


The Less I Know the Better

by See_you_space_jackass



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Borderlands AU, Canon Typical Violence, Jack is the don for Hyperion, M/M, Mafia AU, Rated E for later chapters, Slow Burn, borderlands - Freeform, borderlands mafia au, detectives vs police, did I mention slow burn?, katagawa is the don for maliwan, rhys is head detective of Atlas, vasquez is a smarmy reporter, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21551905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/See_you_space_jackass/pseuds/See_you_space_jackass
Summary: At 17 years old, Rhys is enjoying a fresh bowl of Icecream when a tanned and injured stranger crawls through his open window. Rhys is the son of the head detectives at the Atlas Detective Corporation (ADC) on Promethea, and instead of turning this stranger into his parents, he secretly nurses him back to health. Having no idea that this seemingly harmless man will someday be an iconic Mafia Boss, the chance of this fateful introduction entwines their lives in a chaotic web that can never be broken, maybe things do really happen for a reason.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 168





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cosmo_is_Beink_Melon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmo_is_Beink_Melon/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated/Edited 1/11/2020

It’s been raining for several days, but so far today has been the worst. It’s coming up on 9 at night, and the rain pelting the window is loud enough that Rhys has the volume turned up exceptionally loud on his TV set. He’s enjoying a rerun of some knockoff horror movie and snacking on a bowl of ice cream fresh from the freezer. Despite being a little cold from the sweet treat, Rhys pulls a blanket around his shoulders and leaves his window cracked open to circulate the air and enjoy the smell of the rain.

Dinner had been awkward. Rhys and his father argued about his post-graduation plans while his mother attempted to placate with small-talk. The tension had been so thick you couldn’t cut through it with a corrosive skag. So seventeen-year-old Rhys was glad when he could escape and seclude himself in the safety of his room. He’d quickly dressed down in a loose t-shirt and sweats, and settled in for some alone time. 

Rhys’ mind jumps back to tonight’s argument… His parents run the main detective agency of Atlas. So naturally Rhys enjoys a good mystery now and then. What he doesn’t enjoy is the constant  _ pressure _ from his parents, especially his father. He’s constantly pushing Rhys to examine every small detail, constantly telling him watch his back,  _ trust no one _ , the cliche kind of stuff you’d see in any dramatic detective holovid. And it’s only getting worse as Rhys gets older.

Rhys has known from a young age that when  _ he _ takes the head seat in the Atlas Detective Agency, he won’t run the company the way his father does. His father is too mistrusting, focusing so hard on the physical details he can never pick up the mental and emotional ones. But Rhys is different. He can easily spot the change in one’s tone of voice and a subtle twitch of their eyebrow. It took Rhys no time at all to realize that one could read someone (and subsequently damage them) so much easier psychologically than physically.

While the responsibility of running a whole agency by himself brings trepidation, Rhys is looking forward to one thing at least. Replacing his father means creating an emotionally stronger and closer task force. His team will be loyal out of respect and emotional attachment. It’ll be nothing like his father’s, where everyone was on edge and checking their morning coffee for spit or laxatives.

Lost in his thoughts and mindlessly sucking on his spoon, the very weak jump scare on the holovid causes Rhys to startle and the bowl topples from his free hand. Distracted by his blanket falling off his shoulders, he tries to scramble but fails to catch the bowl as it clatters to the ground (thankfully) empty.

With a heavy sigh and a very dramatic eye roll, Rhys switches on his desk lamp and slumps off his bed to pick up the bowl and move it so he won’t step on it in the morning. He’s not planning on leaving his room for the rest of the night save for a bathroom break.

And then everything seems to happen all at once: his cracked-open second story window is suddenly shoved fully open by a slick and bloodied hand. This is quickly followed by a tanned and bloody arm, which is then followed with the thud of a bloodied and burly man collapsing onto his floor.

Already unbalanced, Rhys tumbles headfirst onto the floor, shrieking as he falls. He scrambles to stand up, quickly observing the man, who clutches his side. Blood seeps through his fingers and onto the floorboards. Rhys immediately catches the other man’s stare, taken aback by his bright and blue and green heterochromatic eyes. 

The gaze is guarded, mistrustful, and Rhys feels an ice-cold fear prickling his skin and settling into his core as the man props himself on his elbow and begins zombie-crawling toward him. Adrenaline kicks in as Rhys’ mind races for a means of escape. The sound of the rain and television seem to disappear and all Rhys can focus on is this moment.

“Rhys?? Are you okay??” his mother calls.

Rhys and the unexpected visitor both freeze and turn their attention to Rhys’ closed bedroom door.

He turns back to the man who flicks his gaze from the door to Rhys. Something in his expression strikes Rhys as being less murderous and more secretly afraid and helpless.. almost like a wounded rabbit. But, no, with that feral grimace and very threatening bloodied sneer staining the man’s teeth red, Rhys decides he more resembles a wounded  _ wolf _ . Rhys doesn’t want to think about who's the rabbit in this scenario.

Realizing he’s been suspiciously quiet for too long, Rhys quickly turns his attention back to the closed door

“Y-yes, I’m fine mom! Just... I uh, just fell off my bed..! But I’m totally okay!!” He tags onto his excuse frantically, hoping it’s enough to stop her on the stairs.

Rhys flicks his eyes back to the other man, whose expression falls into puzzlement and disbelief. He seems genuinely caught off guard.

There’s a few more moments of tense silence, with the movie and the rain creating a blanket of background noise that covers their labored breathing.

“....Okay...” his mother calls back with uncertainty. “Let me know if you need anything.” Clearly used to her son’s clumsy antics, both men listen to her descend the stairs until there’s silence once more.

Rhys begins to berate himself for quite literally increasing his chance of a quick death by at least 99%. But... now at least his mom is safe from… The stranger grunts and rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling. His heavy breathing makes his chest rise and fall, as Rhys watches the rain drip out of his damp hair and onto the floor mixing with the splatters and smears of blood. The man is wearing a black leather jacket, faded blue jeans, and some very tacky sneakers. The shirt was probably white once,but now it’s pink and stained with blood.

When Rhys tries to speak, his voice cracks and he awkwardly clears his throat,

“You’re... hurt....”

“No shit,” the man returns in a rasp.

Rhys tries not to focus on how deep his voice is or how well it fits how unrealistically attractive this guy is.  _ No! Bad Rhys! Focus!! _

“Uh... Wait here, I’m going to... grab some bandages...” 

With a graceful stumble over a pile of dirty clothes, Rhys quickly rights himself. Standing in the doorway, he glances back to see if the man has also moved, but he hasn’t. Figuring the stranger must be too exhausted to move and resigned to his fate, Rhys leaves his door cracked open and dashes to the hallway bathroom.

There he recovers the first aid kit under the bathroom sink, a damp washcloth, and a towel from the floor, before flicking off the lights and dashing into his parents' room. He grabs a needle and some thread in case the man needs stitches. On his way back, he pauses to peer down the lit staircase leading into his kitchen. He knows this is his last chance to call for help, to run down the stairs and tell his parents to call the police, but something convinces him to push back into his room instead.

The man still hasn’t moved, doesn’t even flinch as Rhys shuts his door. Rhys hesitates for a moment before walking to where the man lies.

He comes to the wounded stranger’s side and stares down at him. The man has an oddly relaxed expression and his eyes are shut, causing Rhys to panic for a second that there’s now a corpse on his floor. He’s relieved when the eyes snap open, even if they’re watching her warily.

“What are you staring at, kid?” the man asks accusingly, yanking Rhys from his momentary daze.

“S-sorry... I was worried you might have died...” 

Rhys quickly crouches down to the man’s side and sets the items he gathered onto the floor. He involuntarily flinches when the man laughs and turns his head back to the ceiling, “Kinda feels like I should be dead.”

Not wanting to ask for elaboration, Rhys grabs the damp cloth and reaches for the stranger’s side. The man’s hand shoots and he tightly grasps Rhys’ wrist, causing him to let out an embarrassing squeak.

Rhys meets his eyes once again, surprised at how much strength this bloodied stranger has despite his wounds. He winces as the bruising grip tightens in further warning, the man’s expression guarded and cold as he examines Rhys’ face before turning to look at the items, probably searching for a hidden weapon or syringe.

After a pained grimace, Rhys forces himself to return the eye contact as confidently as possible, matching the stranger with a determined glare. “I’m just trying to help you! Let go before you bleed all over my floor!” His voice comes out a lot more steady than he actually feels. “You ever have a nose bleed on a wooden floor? Not easy to scrub out.”

The man doesn’t react for a few more moments, still staring cautiously right back into Rhys’ eyes as if he would soon be able to read the other’s intentions. Finally, after what feels like a few minutes, his grip relaxes and then his hand slides to the floor. Rhys instinctively rubs his already bruising wrist before returning his attention to the man and trying to soften his scowl into more of a look of concern.

“Take your shirt off.”

A small dirty smirk plays at the man’s lips, and Rhys immediate;y knows the way the man has twisted his words, even before he voices his thoughts.

“Damn cupcake. I usually like to go on a date first, but since you asked so nicely...”

Rhys rolls his eyes as the man carefully sits up, immediately returning to clutch his side with a pained hiss. Rhys puts his hands out. hovering to help steady the stranger. “Woah, woah, careful! Don’t move too fast, you’ll make your injuries worse.”

The visitor ignores him, shrugging off his leather jacket with Rhys’ help.

He growls and with a sudden last burst of energy, manages to lift his shirt off and over his head before collapsing back to the floor, breathing heavily despite the small exertion. His eyes clench tightly closed.

Rhys quickly surveys the man’s (very fit,  _ goddammit _ ) torso, spotting what seems like a deep stab wound in his side. He dabs at it with the washcloth, the first cold touch making the stranger flinch. As he cleans, however, he’s relieved to find the wound isn’t as severe as it seemed at first, more of a graze then a pierce.

He dumps alcohol on the small washcloth, warning, “Careful, this will sting a bit,” before pressing the rag to the gash. The man’s breath hitches in pain as he slams his free hand to the floor, trying to control his breathing against the harsh sting. The pain soon subsides with the man unclenching his fists. Rhys quickly grabs the torn gauze to dress the wound as the blood begins to well up again.

“You don’t have any Anshin or anything less goddamn slow and lame, do ya?” the man growls.

“No, we don’t. Fresh out actually.” Rhys replies, annoyed as he checks over the rest of the man’s chest. Look around Rhys’ bedroom, does this  _ look _ like the home of a wealthy family? Only people with quadruple his father’s paycheck could afford stuff like that.

“You’re going to need a few stitches,” Rhys says uncertainly. “Um…”

“Well, get to it,” the man says impatiently.

“Uhh…” Rhys trails off awkwardly.

The man flicks his eyes over to the needle and thread. “I’m assuming you didn’t bring those to work on your cross-stitch. Make it quick, pumpkin.”

Rhys is proud that his hands only shake a little as he threads the needle. His mother gave him a crash course on this once, and now’s the perfect time to remember it. He takes a deep breath as he stabs the needle into the man’s skin, surprised when he only hisses slightly before going silent. The rest of the stitching goes well with only minor flinching, and after examining his finished work, Rhys feels pretty damn proud of himself. The other wounds are minor in comparison, mostly scratches and bruising.

“Kinda young to have your medical license,” the man says

“Well… thanks to my amazing skills, even without a medical license, I think you’re good to go, free of charge.” He wipes his hands on the nearby towel.

“If you’d like a shower, I can sneak you into the bathroom. And I’ve got some extra clothes you can borrow. We also just ate dinner so I can grab you some leftover food from the kitch — “

“Why are you helping me?” The man interrupts.

Rhys looks back into the man’s eyes, realizing he doesn’t know  _ why _ he’s helping this man. Does he really need a reason? Well... considering this is probably a fugitive that climbed onto his roof and then through his window, okay, yeah, maybe he does.

“You don’t know anything about me, kiddo,” the man says, expressionless, “I could kill you with my bare hands right now, then go downstairs and kill your parents before just taking off into the night. The police would never have a clue, and a scrawny kid like you wouldn’t even be able to stop me.” 

While anxiety and fear pool in Rhys’ gut, he stares at the bandaged wound on the man’s side.

“I... I don’t know...” he answers honestly. “You... you’re hurt, and you really needed help.” He swallows audibly, nervous that maybe this stranger will live up to his threats. He’s really taking a dangerous risk here.

The other man sghs, exasperated, his eyes trained on the ceiling.

“Caring about others will get you killed. Everybody’s out for number one, trust me, kiddo. Don’t waste your energy on people when they’re just going to stab you in the back,” he growls, voice filled with malice. After a moment of tense silence, he mumbles, “Or your kidney, for that matter.”

“Not everyone,” Rhys answers simply, placing a small cotton patch onto the man’s cheekbone. The man scoffed but didn’t reply further.

Glancing over the man’s chest for any other visible wounds and finding none too severe, Rhys stands back up and gives the man a friendly smile.

“I’m going to go get some of that food for you, just wait here.” 

Instead of waiting for a reply, Rhys turns and goes out the door, heading down the stairs and into the kitchen where his parents are cleaning up. 

They both turn their attention towards him, his father going back to the dishes while his mother meets his eyes. He knows the brown in her eyes is reflected in his own. She gives him a raised eyebrow and a playful smile. “You sure you’re okay? Sounded like quite the fall. Did you hit your head again?”

Making sure his mother won’t see right through his lie, he turns to the cupboard and takes a bowl out with a nervous laugh. “Haha... no...? Just... overestimated how far I could lean, you know... from my bed to pick up my bowl off the floor.”

“I hope you cleaned up the mess, and where’s— you’re grabbing more dinner? You’re still hungry?”

Rhys pauses while peeling back the plastic from the pot roast that was about to be stored in their fridge. He tries to come up with an excuse without making his mom concerned.

“Y-yeah course I am, Mom! You know I don’t have any self control when it comes to your pot roast!” He quickly scoops some into the bowl while his mom giggles, flattered. Still on edge about the possible gang member currently in his bedroom, Rhys almost jumps right out of his skin as his mom suddenly grabs him into a tight hug. 

“You’re so sweet. Remember to bring both of your bowls down, okay?” She gives him a loud and wet kiss on the cheek with an over dramatic *smack*!

Rhys makes a disgruntled noise and wipes his face with the back of his hand while pulling away from his mother. “Yeah yeah I will!” he answers and returns her mischievous smile. He grabs a couple of slices of bread before running up the stairs and into his room.

The stranger has put his blood-stained shirt back on and stands near Rhys’ dresser, holding a pair of socks in his hands.

“Hey!” Rhys protests quietly, shutting the door. “Don’t go through my drawers!!” 

He sets the bowl down and snatches the socks from the man’s large hands.

“Why the hell would you OWN a pair of socks like this? Why is it covered in flamingos and pizza? Those don’t even relate to each other!” the man asks, his tone and expression dripping with disgust.

“I got them on a trip to Lazy River Land. They’re soft and they-- it’s none of your business! Don’t go through my stuff!” Rhys growls, tossing the socks back into his drawer and slamming it shut. When he turns back to meet the man’s judgemental gaze, he feels the blood drain from his face. They’re only inches apart and this man could probably snap his neck with one hand. Awkwardly stepping back, he quickly squeaks out a silent “please” before putting the bowl and spoon into the other’s hands.

Instead of meeting the man’s eyes, Rhys turns to survey his room. There’s blood and water puddled on the floor in front of the open window. He’ll need to clean that up before it warps the wood and so he uses the towel he brought in before, crouching down to mop up the mess. As he’s soaking up blood and water, he hears the tell tale sound of a spoon scooping food from a bowl, and Rhys gives a small smile. As tightly-wound as this guy is, it’s pretty amazing he’s so willing to accept food. Makes Rhys feel like he’s  _ accomplished _ something.

After several minutes, the bowl is set down with a thunk and Rhys looks over his shoulder and flushes to see the man watching him, mindlessly chomping on the bread. Trying to hide his embarrassment (what if he was accidentally flashing him?  _ Oh god. _ ) and tugging down the back of his shirt just to be safe he stands ang goes for his dresser. Searching in his pajama drawer for the largest clothes he owns, he finds a shirt and some loose-fitting sweatpants, holding the shirt up in the man’s direction. 

“Think this will fit?”

The man looks it over, meets Rhys’ eyes again, and snatches the clothing before going to Rhys’ doorway.

“Wait...!!” he yelps quietly, rushing to the door and blocking it with his side, seconds before the stranger, hand extended, reaches the knob.

“What?” the man growls as Rhys looks at him incredulously. “You told me I could take a shower.”

“Yes I KNOW that, duh!” Rhys angrily whispers at him. “But did you forget the situation you…  _ WE _ are in right now? My parents have no idea you’re here and they’ll FREAK OUT if they see you! Let me check the hallway first.” 

The man dramatically rolls his eyes before folding his arms and motioning with one hand for Rhys to continue.

Rhys opens his door slowly, quietly creaking on its hinges. Using the small space to peek out toward his parents room, he finds nothing and so he opens the door a bit further, poking his head out to look the opposite direction. Before he can turn and tell the stranger that the coast is clear, he stumbles forwards as the unwelcome visitor shoves the door the rest of the way and strolls out into the hall without caution.

Rhys almost shits his pants, frantically looking every which way as the man casually peeks in each door he passes as if he’s visiting a friend’s house for the first time. Finally reaching the bathroom door, he doesn’t spare Rhys a second glance, just flicks on the light and shuts and locks the door.

Trying to calm his racing heart, Rhys puts a hand over his face, feeling the cold sweat on his forehead. He hears the shower turn on and gives a sigh of relief. At least now he has a moment to try and sort out his thoughts about what in the HELL just happened. 

Before he can do some calming breathing exercises however, he registers his parents speaking to each other and ascending the stairs, his mother giggling softly. Rhys slides along the floor in his socks and then frantically dives back into his room, trying to make as little noise as possible. He crawls to hide behind his open door, waiting for a few seconds before his parents pass by. He listens to the footsteps on the hardwood floor continue down the hallway towards their room, and then he flinches as he hears the rapping of someone knocking on the bathroom door. He feels his skin prickle and almost immediately starts to cause a distraction before his mother simply calls out, “Goodnight Rhys! We’ll see you later tomorrow when we’re back from the office!” 

Thankfully, the stranger doesn’t offer a reply. When he hears his parents door shut, he lets out a loud sigh of relief. 

Holy shit this is going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna wait before uploading this chapter so I could get a schedule and a head start, but my dear friend Cosmo was having a rough day, so I hope this early chapter helps cheer her up a little bit

When the stranger wanders back into Rhys’ room, clean in the borrowed pajamas with a towel draped around his neck, he pauses when he notices the kid was nowhere to be found. 

He’s confused for a moment, drying his hair lightly, and looked down the hallway to his left. Seeing nothing he turns to the stairs, but everything was dark, save for the small night lights lining the hallway. He stared back into the room curiously until the younger male’s head jolted above the side of his bed, causing the stranger to flinch back involuntarily. He tried to cover it up by pretending to stretch a bit, but Rhys simply didn’t notice, offering him a beaming smile instead.

“Oh perfect! The clothes fit you nicely!” The man had tucked the shirt into the sweatpants. While it fit his shoulders nicely, it still was much longer than he preferred. He wondered how this bean pole of a kid looked in it. It probably wouldn’t even stay up on his shoulders, maybe even suffocate him in his sleep.

He walked around the bed to where Rhys was crouching, freezing in place when he saw what he was doing.

A small thin mattress was covered by a sheet and several blankets, a fluffy pillow with frills sat at the top of the makeshift bed. Rhys reached up to fluff the pillow a bit more, before standing back to admire his handy work. He turned to the confused stranger with his smile still in place. “Figured you’d need a place to sleep for the night.” 

The man held his stare for a bit before turning back to the small bed on the floor, brows furrowed and mouth a slight frown.

Rhys looked back at the bed, thinking maybe it was the pillow, but that was the most comfortable one he could find. He turned back to the man. 

“Uh… I don’t mean this in a rude way, but I would appreciate if you stayed for breakfast and then returned to your own home. My parents are...er… pretty observant and are likely to catch on quick I had a guest in the house.”

They continued to stand there awkwardly in silence. Rhys rocking back and forth and shifting his eyes between the man’s blank stare and the bed he had set up.

When he couldn’t take the tense silence anymore, he opened his mouth to speak but the stranger spoke before he could,

“You’re a total dumbass.” 

Rhys’ mouth fell open in shock as the man calmly lifted the blanket and crawled into his temporary bed. When he didn’t say more and simply turned to his side with his eyes closed, Rhys gave an offended scoff, “Okay, I’ll take that as a thank you.” he said as he walked around to the other side of his bed. 

Rhys grumbled to himself as he shut the door to his room and continued to crawl underneath his own sheets. He flicked off his desk lamp and settled into his bed.

After laying on his side for a few moments, he flipped onto his back with his bed protesting loudly.

The sudden silence was deafening, he flipped to his other side facing the stranger, his bed once again objecting to the treatment. He heard the man give an impatient sigh, so he took the chance to ask him.

“My name is Rhys by the way, what’s your name?”

A long stretch of silence passed, and Rhys looked away disappointedly.

“Jack,” the stranger grumbled.

“Now could you  _ please _ . _ Shut. Up _ ?”

“Okay!” Rhys squeaked as he quickly flipped back the other way.

He knew he should be more concerned about this stranger, Jack, sleeping on his floor. Rhys just must be some kind of psychotic at this point. But he isn’t afraid, and as he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep he doesn’t even think twice of the man, who was waiting to hear his breath even out, before he can fall asleep soon after. 

  
  


\-------------------- 

As Rhys’ mind fades back into consciousness, he vaguely recalls a weird dream he had. Something about a bloody stranger crawling into his window, a very uncomfortably attractive stranger, with a chiseled jaw and the name of Jack. His eyes shoot open as he remembers that it wasn’t a dream, and quickly sits up to peer over the side of his bed.

He pauses for a moment and stares, confused by the empty mattress. The blankets have been shoved haphazardly onto the floor. He glances around his room expecting to see Jack standing somewhere, but as his eyes fall back to his open window he realizes the stranger is gone. 

He tries to shove down the wave of disappointment. He had asked him to leave, but he was hoping he’d at least stay for some breakfast. 

He throws the blankets off himself before going to his bedroom door. Opening it, he listens for any noise that Jack may be helping himself to something in the kitchen, or shit, helping himself to his mother’s jewelry box. A dash down the hallway to his parents bedroom reveals nothing, his parents left early like they do every morning. 

Letting out a heavy sigh, he runs a hand through his hair and turns back to the hallway.

He’s singing a tune to himself as he descends the stairs and looks toward the kitchen. His heart jumps out of his chest with his scream as he slides off the last step, clinging to the banister of the staircase. 

There in his kitchen is Jack, staring at him with a quirked eyebrow, enjoying a cup of coffee and reading their morning newspaper.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” Rhys screams grasping at his shirt where his heart should be, which is probably running out the front door by now. 

“Can you keep it down, cupcake? It’s way too fucking early.” Jack grumbles and motions to the clock. 

Rhys glances between Jack and the clock several times, “E-early?? It’s almost noon!! how long have you been awake?!”

“Like… twenty minutes. Hey what grounds do your folks use? This coffee is amazing.”

Rhys sputtered before recollecting himself as he descended the last two steps, not registering the question.

“I uh… I thought you left.” he mentioned quietly as he walked around Jack to grab a bowl from the cupboard. 

“There’s no way in hell I’m going anywhere without some coffee.” Jack said, straightening the paper out with his one hand and taking a loud sip.

Rhys peers at Jack from the corner of his eye as he fills his bowl with his morning cereal, still glancing between them as he retrieves the milk from the fridge.

After pouring it into his bowl, he places it back on the shelf and closes the door. Moving to sit at the small island diagonal from Jack as he spoons up a mouthful. 

The air is comfortable yet uncomfortable at the same time. Where Rhys feels very uncomfortable and unsure what to do with himself, Jack is leaned back in a nonchalant pose as he still reads over the newspaper. Rhys is irritated for a moment, this is his  _ own house!  _ Why the hell is  _ he  _ the uncomfortable one?!

“You gonna keep staring at me? Or are ya gonna keep checking me out?” Jack says as he looks up from the paper, meeting Rhys’ stare. 

Rhys quickly turns away and shovels another huge mouthful of cereal. 

When he finishes chewing with a loud audible swallow, he turns back to Jack, “Uhm… can I… get you anything? Would you like some food or…?”

“Nah,” Jack simply responds and tosses the paper down onto the granite countertop, causing Rhys to flinch. 

After setting the mug down, Jack walks past the island and down the short hall towards the front door. Rhys turns and follows him, turning with the swivel chair to track his path.

“Where are you going?” He asks. 

“Where do you think? I’m leaving.” Jack’s voice carries from the end of the hall.

Rhys jumps up when he hears the door open and runs to look around the corner. Hearing this, Jack pauses in the open doorway while pulling on his leather jacket.

“Is that a problem?” he asks, an almost threatening tone to his voice. 

“N-no…” Rhys stutters, continuing to stare at the stranger. 

They stare at each other for a bit, the air once again becoming uncomfortable. Seeing as there was nothing else to be said, Jack continued pulling on his jacket and stepped out the front door. When he turns back to place his hand on the knob to close it, he notices Rhys still staring intently at him.

Jack gives him a sharp, toothy grin. 

“See ya around, Rhysie.” 

He winks, shutting the door after him.

Rhys really hopes he didn’t see the flush creep all the way to his ears, but he sprints to the front door to lock it anyway. As he tries to calm his fluttering pulse, he looks back to the kitchen and the coffee machine with a dejected sigh. He better clean all evidence of a stranger being here, starting with the mug and coffee machine. Because heaven forbid his parents think it was him.

  
  
  


It’s been several months and Rhys is thinking back to that day. He looks past the mourning guests to a figure standing amongst a small grove of trees, far from the rest of the crowd. The man watching meets his eyes and turns away to take another hit from his cigarette, the light reflecting softly off his sharp features. An arm wraps comfortingly around his shoulders as he returns his attention back to the two black coffins, the Priests voice carrying Rhys back to his current place.

“...deliver us from evil. For the kingdom, the power and the glory are yours. Now and forever. Amen.”

“Amen.” the crowd echoes, the arm giving a comforting squeeze. Rhys says nothing, looking back to the tree where the man stands. Jack is wearing a dark suit, standing there oblivious to everyone else but Rhys in his direct line of sight. As the people attending his parents funeral begin to stand, Jack gives Rhys a sympathetic nod, places the cigarette in his mouth, and walks away, seeming to disappear into the morning mist. 

Rhys doesn’t remember any words that were said to him as people embraced him with tears in their eyes, only recognizing their condolences and blessings. All alluding to the large agency he was now in charge of running.

He could focus on the streams running down his face, unsure if it was the rain, or his tears.

All concept of time is lost to him. What felt like years but was only weeks later, Rhys finds himself standing in his father’s office. It has been left untouched since his death, papers scattered across the desks surface, manilla folders piled on the side near the small projector embedded into the wood. Fellow co-workers of his parents stand quietly behind him, the only noise being someone shifting or clearing their throat. Rhys steps forward to the desk and stares down at it, feeling disconnected from the reality of the situation. Seventeen years old and now in charge of the Atlas corporation? This never happened in his worst nightmares. 

The silence is broken by his father’s Executive Assistant, Marco.

“Take your time, Rhys…” He says softly, 

“If you need anything, we will be right outside, okay?”

Rhys doesn’t turn or respond, listening as they file out of the room, closing the door behind them. 

The silence is suffocating, the walls seeming to stare down at their new occupant. Rhys looks dejected about the room, the feeling of familiarity being drowned out by the unnatural emptiness. It was as if the ghostly presence of his father still was lingering there. 

Rhys can almost see his younger self dashing about the room holding his wooden airplane, his mother chasing him open armed while his father angrily demands she grabs him before he hurts himself. 

He remembers his father sitting him on his knee and showing him his hologrammed computer screen, pointing out the key details that were important in case files, what to look for in someone’s expression and background, how to piece together a puzzle that was missing most of its pieces. 

His mother, rocking his small sleeping form gently on the coffee stained sofa adjoining the left wall. Where she hummed the tune his music box played to him on the nights he struggled to sleep. 

The memories dissipate into a golden dust, bringing Rhys back to the empty office that was once previously his father’s. He rounds the desk and pulls out the chair, sitting down calmly and placing his thumb on the small scanner located by the projector. It comes to life, opening the main screen asking for the secured password.

Rhys unfolds the small note from his pocket, the password scribbled across it in Marco’s handwriting. Rhys swallows the lump in his throat, trying to keep from tearing up again as he enters the password onto the orange projected keyboard:

**_rhys_strongfork_ **

While his father rarely told Rhys he loved him, it was in small ways like this it was expressed. 

The screen unlocks, immediately pulling up open files and tabs from recent homicides to missing pets. Rhys loosely glances through them before flicking his wrist to close them. He tries to calm the small irritated part of himself at how unorganized his father was, stopping at the small note left at the very back of the cluttered desktop:

  
  


_ “Rhys, I’m afraid we’ve gotten in too deep this time. If you’re reading this, then it means we’re no longer with you. _

_ Don’t go looking for them, or they WILL find you. Take care of Atlas for us, your mother and I have done everything we can to prepare you for this.  _

_ Stick to your files, don’t go digging deeper than you’re supposed to. _

_ We’re so proud of how you’ve grown, and are so thankful to have you as our son. Keep your head low and your friends close. We love you. _

_ Dad” _

  
  


Rhys ears began to buzz, his vision clearing and his eyes widening. Millions of thoughts and questions running through his head at once. Where there should have been understanding, there was only questions. Where there should have been sadness, there was only excitement. 

  
Where there should have been fear _ ,  _ there was only  _ resolve. _

Rhys stood suddenly, thrusting his arms forward as he wiped everything off his father’s desk and onto the ground, arms passing through the holographic screen as pencils and pens clattered to the floor. He grabbed the half full trash bin, tossing in the blank and solved files, the scraps of torn papers and crumbs falling into the bin and onto the rug beneath his feet.

After a few minutes of frenzied cleaning, he opened his door, ignoring the shocked gasps as the people crowding around quickly backed up to give him room. Without acknowledging them he set the full bin outside the door before slamming it back shut. 

He marched back to the desk, his once kempt hair falling into his eyes as he returned to his father’s old chair.

After saving his father’s final note, he went to the computer’s settings. The wallpaper was changed from the grey toned background to lines of flickering faux code, the projected keyboard switching from a bright orange to an electric blue. 

He grinned almost maniacally, returning to the main settings and changing the computer’s password:

  
  
  


**_Rhy$_Winz_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having a lotta fun getting back into writing again! (/w\\) I hope these chapters are somewhat decent 
> 
> If you take the time to comment it makes my day ( ///w///), so thank you


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jumping forward to current day Rhys who is now 23 years old, it's a normal day until he finds out the mayor's dead. But hey! they are able to quickly find a lead to the culprit

“Helloooo~? Promethea to Rhys, anybody home??” Fiona waves her hand obnoxiously over his face, encouraging Rhys to peek open his echo eye if only to give her a stern glare. 

“You really gotta replace this couch, man. Hasn’t it been around since like… your parents died? Making it EXTRA old?”

“Wow you are so sympathetic Fiona, I’m touched, really I am.” He grumbles and sits upright. 

“Mrs. Livernash’s cat is missing again,” Fiona sighs handing him the missing flier, “Says she last saw her two hours ago.” Rhys rubs the bridge of his nose with his bionic arm, “I’m sure Punkin will show up in a few more hours like he has the last four times, he’s a cat. He’ll come back when he’s hungry.” 

“Tell that to Mrs. Livernash.” She responds simply and turns away.

“Next time you walk into my office without knocking, will you at least bring me some coffee?” he calls after her, groaning in annoyance when his door simply shuts with no response.

Standing up, he cracks his back with a satisfying pop, reaching one arm up to stretch out his sore muscles. He’ll really need to get to bed earlier next time, sitting at a desk for so long is really aging him. 

“23 going on 96…” he mumbled quietly to himself as he exits his office. Looks like he’ll have to get his own coffee, seriously what is a secretary even for?

“Not your secretary!” Fiona yells out to him a few paces away. 

“It’s literally in your job description!” He gripes back, but quickly drops it to avoid further argument.

He watches his small staff go about their usual schedules before clapping his hands together, “Okay!” he calls out, “What do we got going on today, comrades?”

“Literally nothing,” Sasha says brushing past him, carrying an old archive box to the other end of the office, “same old stuff we’ve been working on since yesterday, Rhys.”

“And the day before that, and the day before  _ that,” _ August responds, tilting his head and following close behind her with another box, “Seriously Rhys what do you even expect anymo--” 

“There  _ was _ a murder this morning!” Vaughn chimes in from across the room holding up a folder, “Harold Tassiter is dead.”

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?” Rhys shouts to Sasha and August’s retreating forms, “The fricking mayor is DEAD and that somehow passed your memory??” They both shrug simultaneously and place the boxes down onto a desk.

“Ugh!” Rhys complains loudly, tossing his head back. “Thank you, once again Vaughn, for being the only reliable bro in this office!” 

“Anytime bro!”

“Good morning darlin’!” Janey says in her chipper tone, “I thought you might like to look at the file and photos we’ve gotten so far. If you ask me, the asshole got what was comin’ to him, but we’re not supposed to have opinions on that, aye?” She gives him a wink and hands him the red stamped “crime scene” folder.

“Yes Janey we are NOT supposed to have opinions on that because we are a very professional--” He jerks his head up to glare at Fiona’s purposeful scoff, “... very PROFESSIONAL and may I remind you THE ONLY detective agency in Promethea!” Although Janey has already walked away at this point, he opens the folder dramatically, sputtering as he tries to catch the loose photos, spilling the rest of the file in the process. 

He’s bent over and reorganizing the spilled contents when he pauses at a picture of the corpse. Obvious fingerprints, deep and bruising are indented into the man’s neck, his eyes bloodshot and bulging from their sockets. The look on his once stoic face is one of terror, and Rhys feels a chill run down his spine. He picks up the photo to examine it closer, squinting at the yellow handkerchief tucked into the man’s breast pocket. 

“It looks like their work, huh?” Fiona whispers as she crouches down next to him. 

“Sure looks like it.” He grumbles and tucks the picture back into the folder. He stands back up as Fiona follows. 

“Get the scouting team together would ya? Looks like we need to pay Hyperion a visit.”

“I’ll do it.” Yvette says calmly, suddenly appearing behind them. 

Rhys jumps with a very (manly) squeal, “God, Yvette! How do you move without ever making a sound?! And in heels?!” He adds when he notices her sleek and ebony heels, they have to be at least three inches. It ties together perfectly with her yellow v-necked blouse and form fitting pencil skirt. He brushes the invisible dust from his jacket, trying to iron out his wrinkled pride

Fiona and Yvette glance between each other, unimpressed before turning back to him and saying in unison, “Because you’re an idiot, Rhys.”

\-------------------- 

It’s late into the afternoon as a small team is organized (by Yvette, of course), including August, Sasha and three other employees from the upstairs investigative department, solely dedicated to undercover operations.

They all enter into his office, closing the door behind them.

Rhys gives them a once-over, eyeing their Promethean pedestrian attire and finding it satisfactory. 

“Alrighty,” he begins with a sigh, “We have reason to believe the murder this morning is related to the Hyperion mafia.” He notices one of the members swallow as their posture stiffens, while the one next to them places their hands in their pockets. 

“Your mission, should you choose to accept it, find one of those Hyperion goons and bring them in for questioning. Remain anonymous, stay low, don’t draw too much attention to yourselves. And…” 

“The Hyperion mafia…?” the red haired undercover agent asks incredulously, Rhys turns to him, remembering his name was Neal… or something like that. Maybe-Neal continues, “Aren’t we supposed to not involve ourselves in the mafia? Isn’t that strictly for the police?”

“Well, Neal…”

“Nate, sir.”

_ Dammit… so close. _

“Nate, sorry. The police don’t do shit with investigating, hence why we’re all here. By the time they consider the mafia, more prominent people will be dead,” he growls out.

(Also, what the hell was this kid thinking? Questioning his boss’s  _ boss _ ?) 

With that in mind Rhys puts more authority into his tone, 

“Mafia or not, psychopathic drug lords or  _ not,  _ you can’t just kill the mayor and expect to be above the law. We’re going to investigate this case, and since there are signs leading us to believe this is a  _ Hyperion _ linked crime, we’re going to do our jobs and search for justice,  _ got it _ ?” 

Nate immediately nods, face returning back to one of seriousness instead of disbelief, “Yes, sir. My apologies, sir.” Rhys simply nods before taking his eyes from the freckled insubordinate, “That’s it. Good luck out there, be back here around…” he lifts his robotic arm palm upright to project the time, “... around 8. Gives you about 7 hours. You’re dismissed.” He waves them off and the team exits dutifully, Yvette waiting against the opened door. 

While Rhys loves her, he also hates her. Jealous of the heavy air of feminine sexuality she exudes, her professional attire and confident poise could put fear into a lesser man. Rhys hired her soon after he hired his best friend Vaughn, replacing much of the staff his father previously employed. She simply came up to the door and asked for an interview, since then she hung out with Vaughn and Rhys in their apartment for many a game or movie night. Which was  _ awesome, _ because  _ girls,  _ but Vaughn and Rhys came to know her more as a sister than a love prospect, which made the relationship much more comfortable and casual. 

“What makes you think it’s Hyperion?” she asks. 

“The telltale bruising on the neck, which has been prominent in much of the recent Hyperion cases, indicative of strangulation. And then there was the “H” embossed handkerchief in his inside breast pocket, all hints of a Hyperion influenced crime.” He grunted as he fell back onto his office couch. 

“Yeeeahh… but can’t anyone easily recreate that? A copycat crime, perhaps?” Rhys nods but then holds up his left hand, “No copycat crime would go to the last miniscule detail of a ring on the left ring finger, and a ring on the right pointer finger, another common appearance in Hyperion asphyxiation-related murders.”

Yvette nods, actually impressed. “Good point, I just hope this doesn’t set them off and they come to murder our whole department.” she turns to leave as Rhys drapes his arms over the back of the couch, tilting his head to the ceiling.

“Eh, I’m not too worried about that, if police members start disappearing _ then  _ I’ll be more worried.”

  
  


\-------------------- 

Rhys is going through the encrypted folder containing files, to photos of vandalized buildings, to victims at the morgue. Sometimes he stares at the photos for so long he sees them in his dreams, walking through them as if he was there again. The large purple and red vault symbol, the body of the mystery man found in the river, eyes a clouded purple with the dark indigo veins zigzagging down his face, the chemical make-up of the mystery drug discovered in his system… the exact same compound found in the other victims with same facial markings. 

He _ knew  _ this all hid a deeper secret. As he switches to the next morgue photo, a girl with purple hair and the same colored veins contrasting to her pale skin, he glances to his desktop background. 

There lurking in his peripheral vision, is his father’s final memento.

“... _ don’t go digging deeper than you’re supposed to…”  _ echoes in his head, his father’s stern voice fading with time. 

He hesitates, before glaring at the final note and covering it with the current photo he’s viewing. When he does so, his eyes catch on to a small detail he didn’t notice before. Intrigued, he enhances the photo and zooms in closer. Activating his echo eye for confirmation, it confirms his theory within a couple of seconds.

There… so tiny he doubts it was even presented in the autopsy, is what appears to be a microscopic puncture wound. Similar to a needle stabbed into the woman's neck, right below her jaw. 

His echo eye highlights the path of the drug, following the light lavender lines that trace up to her temple, through the center of her brow, then connecting to her eyes. There the lines explode, the vivid bruising across her face. His echo eye blinks a red notification:

_**PROVIDED INFORMATION OF DEFENSIVE WOUNDS SUGGESTS NON-CONSENSUAL, FORCED INJECTION** _

Rhys feels his blood run cold, his eyes widening as he stares obsessively at the injection point. “ _ Oh my god _ …” he whispers under his breath, “... she was an  _ experiment _ …”

He quickly shuts down the projection with practiced ease as his office door flies open and the lights automatically turn on. He already knows who it is, considering she is the only one who  _ never _ knocks. 

“What’s the news Fiona?”

“They found a Hyperion soldier, he’s in the interrogation room.” 

Rhys pauses, registering this information. He stands up and shuts down his projected screen, “That was… fast…” he points out looking at the time, it isn’t even 7 PM yet.

He walks out the door with a snap of his fingers to shut out his lights, the door automatically locking behind him as Fiona follows closely behind. 

“Be careful…” she whispered, glancing around them for any unwelcome listeners, “Sasha said it was almost like he was  _ looking _ to be found… led them right into a dead end alley-way, raised his arms in the air before they could pull any weapons on him.” 

They reach the door of the interrogation room, meeting August who is standing there on guard. “This guy is either drunk, or insane,” he grumbles, “For turning himself in, he sure isn’t giving us shit.” He nods to the door and steps aside to let Rhys in. 

Fiona and Rhys enter, their handcuffed guest following them with his eyes and a wicked grin splitting his face. Once the door shuts behind them, Rhys goes to the back corner, leaning his back onto the concrete wall, folding his arms and crossing his legs in a casual posture.

As Fiona rounds the metal table and behind the man, he locks his manic eyes onto Rhys,

“A real pleasure to finally meet the head detective of Atlas, I’ve been hearing a  _ lot  _ about you…” he sneers, “...much better than your dead-beat parents were, I’ll tell ya that much. No pun intended.” Rhys expertly puts out the small flame of anger in his core, keeping his face in a neutral expression. 

The man looks a little worse for wear, a glance to Sasha’s bruised knuckles says enough, his echo eye immediately flicking to life to replay the augmented scene of Sasha punching the man square in his jaw. He has short cropped white hair, matted to his forehead with sweat, pale blue almost gray eyes, and a yellow stained white tank shirt. His arms that are handcuffed by his wrists to his back have peculiar mechanical clasps surgically embedded into his skin all up his forearms. Must be to attach some kind of large machinery… 

Surprisingly, Fiona is the one who seems to take personal offense to the man’s comment on Rhys’ deceased parents, removing a hand from behind her back to strike the man, flat-palmed to the back of his head. An audible resounding “smack!” echoes in the room, the man’s head jerking forward with a surprised grunt, 

“Watch your mouth.” she says through clenched teeth. 

Rhys waits for the man to look up again before questioning him. 

“Harold Tassiter. You heard of him?”

The man’s grin quickly returns to his face, “Yeah I’ve heard of him. Deader than a doornail come this morning! HAH!” he shakes his head chuckling to himself.

Fiona and Sasha look to each other before looking back to the man handcuffed to the chair. 

“Uh huh,” Rhys continues unphased, “Any idea who did it?”

The man raises his head comically slow, as if he’s an actor in a new blockbuster movie, “Who do you think, pretty boy?”

“Care to elaborate?” Rhys says impatiently.

The man fakes a contemplative face, “Ehh. No not really.” His smug smile disappears with a blur, as Fiona suddenly smashes his head into the table. Rhys slightly cringes, you can thank Pandora for the girl’s interrogation tactics. The man’s head shoots back up, spluttering blood out from his mouth as it gushes out of his nose, obviously now broken. 

“WHA-WHAT THE FUCK??!” He coughs and spits a lob of blood as far back as his head will turn, showing some of his chipped teeth, “YOU STUPID BITCH, I’LL MAKE YOU PAY FOR THAT!” 

“My apologies,” Rhys says calmly as the man turns his angry glare to him, “I personally hate to get my hands dirty, but the girls here don’t abide by any rules I give them. Just… try to cooperate so you don’t piss them off.” He shrugs. 

The man’s smile slowly appears, blood still dripping down his face and running back into his mouth, “Just wait until the new boss gets his hands on you all… you’re going to wish you’d never been BORN.” Rhys perks up with interest, “New boss?”

“Hell yeah!” The man jerked excitedly, “Killed the previous boss with his own bare hands, he is  _ ruthless _ let me tell ya… a reallll devil in human flesh…” 

“And who is this… new boss of yours?” Rhys says, masking the slight twinge of fear he feels. 

The man leans back and smirks, “... I ain’t gonna say.” 

There’s silence for a moment, the only noise being the man’s wet breathing. 

“Okay.” Rhys raises his hands in defeat, the man’s face falling immediately, seeming not to have predicted this outcome.

Rhys turns to the door and opens it, “Well, if you don’t feel like sharing right now, I’m sure the girls would love to have some stress relief, when you feel like answering just scream, ‘kay? Oh. And I’ll have someone bring you in some anshin, so you don’t go dying or passing out on us too soon,” he shoots a wink and slowly continues to leave.

The man looks between Sasha and Fiona’s evil grins, for the first time looking genuinely terrified.

“H… HANDSOME JACK!!!”

  
  
  


Rhys freezes, hand on the door handle.

He turns slowly, his limbs feeling as if they’re filled with led. He’s so caught off guard he doesn’t even try to hide the shock. He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Who…?” he rasps.

“His name is Handsome Jack!” The man yelps as Sasha moves closer, leaning as far as he can from her menacing presence, “H-he killed Tassiter! I- I can tell you where he is! Just don’t leave me with them!!” he begs, eyes seeming to well with tears.

Rhys turns his eyes back to the door, feeling the temperature begin to drop. He feels he can see his breath as he shuts the door, notices the slight shaking in his human hand, clenching it to try and stop the shivering. 

He turns back to the man, approaching the table slowly as if any sudden movement will cause the ground to crumble beneath him, “Where… where can I find your boss?” he asks, trying to feign confidence. Sasha and Fiona pick up immediately, turning in sync to look at Rhys.

“Club 69… you heard of Club 69? He owns it, he hangs out there every night once it gets dark. He’s probably there right now. If he’s not, he will be, I can guarantee it!” He nods his head frantically. 

Rhys turns his eyes back to the far corner of the table as if it’s holding all the answers to his suspicions. There’s absolutely no way it’s  _ that _ Jack…

Rhys isn’t sure how long he’s quiet for, before the man makes a grave error of opening his mouth again, “There. I gave you all the information I can.” He pants before smiling again, “You want my advice though? Don’t go lookin’ for him, or else you’re gonna have a nice little spot next to your maggot infested parents.” He giggles almost childishly.

Rhys flicks his mismatched eyes back to him. The man’s smile falls seeing the dark expression, confusion crossing his face before the obvious appearance of fear. 

Rhys is no longer shaking, standing straight with a slow and controlled movement. The man’s eyes follow him closely, the fear becoming more and more apparent. Rhys doesn’t even want to know how his face looks right now, considering even Fiona and Sasha seem to get nervous. 

He stands there stiffly for a tense couple of minutes, looking down at the man before his echo eye lights up brightly, running a quick bio scan:

_ George Wilkes bio profile: Raised pulse activity, stress levels rising, breathing irregular, male pattern baldness, narcissistic personality, pretty much an asshole,  _

_ no known family records.  _

He feels the corner of his mouth lift in a smirk, that results in more of a grimace. The bio profile disappears and Rhys calmly turns back to the door. 

“Nice chatting with you, George,” he sighs, “... but I’m afraid I don’t have use for you anymore. Tell my parents ‘hi’ for me, would you? Make it quick ladies, I want the mess cleaned up so I have time for a bubble bath and some wine.” 

He hears George’s nervous intake of air, immediately beginning to protest, begging for his measly life. Rhys shuts the door as the screams start, quickly striding down the hallway and trying to calm his racing heart. 

There is absolutely no chance it is the same Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Handsome Jackarse will make an appearance in the next chapter, I promise


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, :'D sorry, hope everyone had a great holiday and you enjoy this chapter! <3

Rhys drapes the scarf loosely over his shoulders on top of his coat, straightening out his tie as Vaughn cleans his glasses. 

“Club 69, huh? Wish I could say the name was clever but…” Vaughn trails off, getting a small laugh out of Rhys.

“Cliche,” they agree simultaneously. 

“You got your gun?” Rhys asks Vaughn, giving him a playful smirk. For how short Vaughn is, he can really work a suit. 

“Psh, of course,” he states matter-of-factly, “You got your useless stun baton?”

“Hey, it’s not useless! I’ll have you know this sucker has over 8.7 milliamps, which can knock a guy 20 feet onto his ass within a few seconds.”

“Do you know anything about what you just said?”

“I know enough.” Rhys said readjusting his weapon onto his hip. 

“You sure we shouldn’t bring back-up…? I mean… this guy just single-handedly strangled the mayor this morning. Not to mention he’s the biggest mob boss on Promethea right now.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Rhys replied, “Our job is just to investigate, we can’t go bursting in like the police or else we will cause a blood bath. We look harmless enough!” He says gesturing to himself. Vaughn flicks his eyes up and down Rhys, unimpressed.

“Whatever you say bro, just know if I die chances are low you’ll find someone else to pay half of our rent.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you, you’re irreplaceable bro.”

“Bro…”

\--------------------

When they reach the club, the bouncer refuses to let them in. With a simple flash of the badge and a relay of their names, the large man with a the black hair and beard, adjourned with white streaks, looks Rhys up and down before stepping aside with a suspicious glare. Rhys holds his head high, as if sizing up the man, feeling Vaughn nervously grasp onto his sleeve as they walk down the pink LED lit hallway. Rhys feels the man’s eyes on them as they walk past the other guests, who all seem to stop their conversations to look at the new visitors.

Rhys flicks on his echo eye, scanning the hallway and its inhabitants for any weapons or risks of them getting jumped. He gulps when he notices more than half of these people have a weapon strapped to their waist, their thighs, or even tucked into their bra. A lot of people can’t tell the difference between a patrol officer and a simple detective, especially in this mafia run environment. Vaughn and Rhys nod to each other to remain alert, straightening their posture to avoid appearing as easy targets.

The loud music reverberates through their bodies and Rhys quickly shuts down his echo eye, becoming overwhelmed by all of the data that starts suddenly appearing. As he blinks to readjust his focus, the people turn around to look at them. While some quickly get bored and others change direction, most follow Rhys and Vaughn’s path with their eyes. They stand out like pigeons surrounded by peacocks, the flickering lights bouncing of their black and white attire compared to the women in crop tops and men clad in nothing but a pair of ragged jeans. On the top stair leading to the dance floor, Rhys flicks his eye back on to scan the main floor. 

Vaughn tries to speak over the loud dance music as Rhys’ eye bounces from guest to guest searching for the specific profile they’re here for, having no trouble despite the flashing lights and grinding bodies.  
Not hearing him the first time, Rhys shouts over the music for Vaughn to repeat himself without removing his attention from the dance floor. 

Vaughn cups his hands around his mouth and stands on his tip toes despite Rhys leaning more in his direction, “ I SAID, FAR LEFT CORNER!” He shouts as loud as he can. As Rhys registers the words over the ringing in his ears, he looks to the direction Vaughn is pointing. 

There in the far left corner, rimmed with neon yellow lights, is a beaded curtain. Two threatening looking men guard the curtain, one slightly tapping his foot to the music. When he shifts Rhys can vaguely see a man splayed out with his arms draped around the back of a leather couch, cigarette in mouth and women tucked under each arm. He can make out a couple more shapes before the guard moves back into his original position. 

Rhys turns to Vaughn and gives a firm agreement, both immediately descending the stairs and across the dance floor. For the most part, people seem to part easily and create a path for them. Rhys still stays alert, his focus on the far corner as well as Vaughn’s safety, meeting eye contact with a challenging stare at anyone who seems to be eyeing them too closely. As they pass the DJ booth, Rhys looks up to the two performers. He can’t see their expressions or faces behind the helmets, but watches as their heads turn, following them across the lit floor. He flicks his eyes down to the large label of “DJ BOOM AND RANG” before facing forward again and reaching the other side of the crowd.

He takes in a shaky breath to ground himself as they reach the obscured room, both of the guard’s placing their hands on their weapons and flexing their shoulders. Rhys approaches the closest guard and flicks open his FBI badge, “Head detective, Rhys Strongfork of Atlas Detective Corp,” he yells loudly. The guard hesitates, leaning down to hear him better and examine his badge. Rhys gestures to Vaughn who flips open his badge as well, face displaying strong resolve despite the nervous sweat on his forehead, “This is my partner, Sergeant Vaughn Ledford, we’re here to speak to someone called “Handsome Jack”?'' 

The man lifts his head up and arches an eyebrow over his dark sunglasses, “Under what business?” He replies.

“Homicide,” Rhys says simply, tucking his badge back into his pocket, “We have reason to believe he’s our main suspect.”

The guard grins and grasps the handle of his gun, Rhys flicks his eyes to the movement before quickly looking back up to the guard, who despite Rhys’ height stands several inches over him.

“Handsome Jack doesn’t take walk-ins, would you like to make an appointment?” He strokes his gun threateningly. Rhys puffs out his chest to dispute before a loud voice calls out behind them, “Let them on in Jerry, I’ll handle this.” The man’s smile fades, hesitating for a moment, before slowly stepping aside and reaching out to open the beaded curtain. 

Rhys ducks his head below the lifted curtain with Vaughn following closely behind. When Rhys raises his eyes and locks them with the heterochromatic eyes of the other, he freezes in place, Vaughn running into his back with a grunt.   
Vaughn complains for a moment before peeking around Rhys and stepping to the side for a clearer view. The beaded curtain swung closed behind them, leaving Rhys feeling the uncomfortable fear of being trapped. He swallows dryly, his limbs going numb and a lump forming in his throat. Goosebumps rise across his flesh arm and the hair rises on the back of his neck.

His suspicions were correct, he recognizes the man immediately. The sharp teeth with a manic grin, strong jawline, the only difference now is a discolored mask clasped to the man’s face. The other man, Jack, immediately recognized him as well. A smirk splitting his face wider as his eyes slowly rake up and down Rhys’ torso and long legs, only to return back to his face.

“Damnnn…” the man whistles lowly, “Well well well, Mr. Head Detective, why don’t you go on and have a seat?” He says gesturing to his lap suggestively. Vaughn scoffs and Rhys clenches his fists and fixes a glare to his features. 

“Handsome Jack, I presume?” Rhys spits out, disappointed when Jack only grins wider, “That’s what they call me!” He says raising his arms wide as if putting himself on display, the girls under his arms giggle. Rhys looks at them with a grimace. Despite the couch being big enough to fit at least eight people, there’s more than twelve women sitting hip to hip surrounding Jack on the couch. It looks like the beginning of some cheap porno, all of them wearing low cut shirts with their breasts hanging on for dear life, their small dresses riding up dangerously short. 

“But you, Rhysie…” Jack purrs, snapping Rhys’ attention back to him, “Can call me daddy.” He husks with a promiscuous eyebrow wiggle.

Vaughn makes a gagging noise behind him, causing Jack to chuckle and take a drag from his cigarette, leaning forward and snuffing it out into the small ashtray. The two closest women wrapping their arms around his biceps. Jack ignores them and continues to focus on Rhys as if he’s the most interesting thing in the room. Rhys feels his attempt to hide his nerves crumbling, as he recognizes the look in Jack’s eyes as a child opening a new present on Christmas day. 

“So…” he grins and folds his hands in front of him, “What brings you ladies to my corner of town tonight?”

The question helps Rhys regain his footing, folding his arms defensively when he feels Jack’s eyes wandering again. “Harold Tassiter… did you--” “Yeah I killed him. Complete dickwad, y’know? Pretty sure he throttled kittens in his spare time just to feel something.” Vaughn and Rhys’ mouth dropped open. 

Well… that was an easy confession.

“Well uh… you…” Rhys clears his throat and straightens his posture, “... you need to come back with us to…” he stutters when Jack raises an eyebrow, followed by a smirk. Rhys gulps, “Back… back to…” he frantically shakes his head, “You need to come with us to be interrogated!” He shouts in frustration with himself. 

The room is awkwardly silent. Everyone’s eyes on him, especially Vaughn, who is fixing him with a very suspicious stare as he glances between Rhys and Jack. His stare is broken however when he quickly turns his attention to the large guards that were stationed outside the room, now moving aside the beads to stand directly behind the two detectives. Vaughn scoots closer to Rhys and grabs the loose fabric of his jacket’s seam, whispering his name nervously as he keeps his attention trained on the guards, hand instinctively reaching for his concealed gun.

Rhys holds the tense eye contact with Jack, hearing and feeling the guards close behind them but refusing to back down, watching Jack’s pupils dilate as the neon yellow lights dance shadows along his face. Some of the girls get nervous, several standing up and leaving. Others look back and forth between the detectives and mafia overlord, waiting for someone to move first.

“Sorry babe. Can’t make it tonight,” Jack says with mock disappointment and leans back into the couch, redraping his arms around the two women and pulling them close. “I mean, unless the interrogation involves some silk ropes, handcuffs, you and me in my bedroom, then I’m not interested.”

Rhys feels his face flush slightly in (what he hopes) is irritation and angles himself forward to take a confident step, “But,” Jack raises his hand, stopping the bodyguard from grabbing Rhys by the shoulder, “I’ll tell ya what. I’ll come down to your office myself tomorrow at… say… 9 AM?” Rhys turns his face and gives him an untrusting squint, “I’m serious, cupcake.” Jack continues, “By myself, no weapons, no nothin’. Just ready to sit and talk this aaaallll out. I promise.” He holds up his pinky as if to make a pinky promise, the ring on his left ring finger, glinting in the light. “And trust me babe, I don’t ever. Break. A promise.” He growls tensely.

Rhys feels a large hand clamp down onto his shoulder and judging from Vaughn’s squeak he felt the same. They willingly turn with the large body guards, Rhys holding eye contact until his neck hurt too much to follow.

“I’ll see you around, Rhysie!” Jack calls out with promise and a smug grin. The deja-vu of those words causing Rhys to involuntarily shudder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since work is starting back up again, it will take a bit to edit the next few chapters! Sorry the upload regularity is so all over the place


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack shows up on time for once, and Rhys is the president of bad decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finnaalllyyy an update!!! Thanks so much for all your sweet comments!! :') I hope you enjoy it!!

The oversized men are doing more shoving than guiding Rhys and Vaughn out the door, poor Vaughn is basically tripping over his own feet trying to keep up.

Once they reach the entrance, which is now their exit, the bouncer steps aside as both detectives are roughly shoved face first onto the sidewalk. 

Rhys trips over his legs and goes crashing to the pavement like a newborn giraffe, while Vaughn runs a few steps before catching himself. He places his hands on his knees and pants heavily as the people still waiting outside the club begin to laugh. 

Rhys glares at the large bouncer, who is also openly chuckling despite having such a stoic face. 

“What… the hell was THAT?!” Vaughn yells at Rhys out of breath. Rhys stands up and brushes himself off, sticking his tongue out at the bouncer and giving him the double finger. Vaughn joins his side and shoots a glare to the bouncer before turning and walking back to their vehicle parked across the street.

“Rhys, what  _ WAS _ that?” He asks again, looking at his companions face for answers.

Rhys knows what he’s really asking, but feigns ignorance.

“I know right? What shitty customer service.”

Vaughn lightly jogs and stops directly in front of Rhys with all the power of a knee-high wall. Rhys stares down at him as Vaughn throws his arms to his sides dramatically, “You know what I mean!” he yells accusatory, pointing a finger into Rhys’ face, “What did we say about secrets?! We agreed no secrets! It’s rule two of the bro code!!” He says, sadness seeping into his eyes for a moment. 

Rhys bites his lip nervously, looking back to the crowd where some are still laughing. He places his hand gently onto Vaughn’s shoulder, encouraging him to continue walking with him.

“I’ll… tell you in the car.”

  
  


\--------------------

  
  
  


“So, wait… let me get this straight…” Vaughn says rubbing the bridge of his nose, his eyes screwed shut in concentration. His whole body is turned to Rhys, the explanation taking several minutes of the drive back to their apartment. Rhys sends Yvette a message with his echo eye, asking her to lock up the office before refocusing his attention on the dark and empty street in front of them. 

“You…” Vaughn continues after another pause, “... you helped a random stranger, who crawled into your second story  _ window _ …” He pauses eyes wide in disbelief to stare at the side of Rhys’ face,

“ _ BLOODY _ ,” he adds, “without your parents EVER finding out, and now he’s the don of  _ HYPERION _ ? The largest and most influential mafia on  _ Promethea _ ?”

Rhys shrugs with a slight frown, “Yeah, pretty much.” He answers simply. 

Vaughn dramatically throws himself back into the passenger seat with an unnecessarily loud groan. 

Rhys glances out of the corner of his eye with a pout as Vaughn continues groaning, draping his arms across his eyes as if the whole situation has given him a migraine.

Keeping his palms on the steering wheel, Rhys raises his hands in defense. “Look, I don’t know why you’re  _ overreacting _ so mu--”

“ME?? OVERREACTING??” 

Vaughn shoots straight up, placing a hand on his chest and yelling. 

“Yes, overreacting!!!” Rhys yells back, meeting his eyes before turning back to the road.

“I was _ seventeen _ !” Realizing it was a weak defense, he stumbles over a few words before stuttering, “A-and I mean…! He was _ hurt _ ! My first reaction was to help him! I didn’t find any other reason not to!” He glances in his rearview mirror as they reach a red light. 

“And I get that! But even at 17 you should have had half a brain to realize you had at  _ least _ a 90% chance of getting murdered by an  _ obvious _ gang member in your own  _ home _ ?” Vaughn frantically throws his hands in front of him, some strands of hair falling out of place.

“There’s nothing I can do about that now!” Rhys yells, before letting out a heavy sigh.

The car is silent, both of them staring blankly out the windshield, the only sound being the car’s engine. The light turns green and they continue, sitting uncomfortably in silence. 

It’s only when they are seconds away from their apartment Vaughn quietly speaks again, “Do you… do you think he’ll kill you?” 

Rhys gulps, blood rushing to his head as he thinks of an answer. Turning into the parking lot to their apartment, Rhys clears his throat.

“I… I don’t know…” he responds back weakly. 

Vaughn turns his eyes somberly to the floor.

After they’ve locked their car, passed through the lobby and into the rickety elevator, they let out a collective sigh as the doors shut.

Rhys hears Vaughn sniffle, turning to look at him. While tears are not running down his face, they are slowly collecting in the corners of his eyes.

“Woah, bro,” Rhys approaches, instinctively wrapping his arms around Vaughn in a tight embrace, “I’m not going to die!” he laughs awkwardly as Vaughn returns the hug, “I know…” Vaughn says, not sounding too confident, “I’m just worried is all.”

\--------------------

Rhys lies wide awake facing the ceiling. He can hear Vaughn snoring soundly on the other side of the thin wall, it had taken him a couple of hours, but ultimately exhaustion was able to win the small man over.

Rhys gulps nervously, thoughts running at a hundred miles an hour. Is Jack going to kill him? Is that why he’s actually coming to the ADC tomorrow? Is he really going to show up? He said he’s not going to bring a weapon, but as if that even matters when the man is known for strangingling people with his own two hands. Speaking of hands, his hands are ridiculously  _ huge _ …

Rhys rolls onto his side and looks at his alarm clock, regretting it immediately. Even if he was to suddenly fall asleep, his alarm would be going off in two hours. He rolls his eyes, the heavy feeling of exhaustion in his very bones. Knowing there was no chance he would be sleeping tonight, he sat upright, removing his bionic arm from its charging station to reattach it to his side. He pulls up his encrypted file onto his echo eye before displaying it over his palm, reviewing the picture of the purple haired victim.

  
  
  
  


The next morning at 8:30 AM sharp, Vaughn and Rhys walk sluggishly up to the office, dark circles under their eyes. 

They both freeze outside the front doors, turning to see the three Promethean Police cars stationed outside the Atlas building. They share a look before walking in together, both much more awake than they were previously.

Almost immediately Rhys’ eyes fall onto Captain Roland conversing with Fiona, turning once he notices Fiona’s eyes look to the front entrance. Close to his side is Lilith and Mordecai, who also turn with him to follow his direction. Rhys tries to hide his nervous intake of air and puts on a professional smile with a small wave, making his way towards them.

They meet Rhys halfway, he acknowledges them with a nod of his head, “Captain Roland, Officer Lilith, and Mordecai, what brings the visit so early?” It’s so bizarre to see Mordecai in a pressed suit, majority of the time he’s wearing some loose street clothing, this puts Rhys slightly on edge. 

“Hello Rhys,” Roland clears his throat, placing his hands behind his back. “This is in regards to Mayor Tassiter’s murder yesterday morning.” 

“Ah yes,” Rhys relaxes slightly, “The evidence fully points to Hyperion, we’re going to bring one of the leaders in for questi--” “The Police department is taking over the investigation.”

Rhys snaps his attention to him, mouth agape and brows furrowed, “...what?” He asks breathlessly. 

“We’re here to collect all of the data and files you have thus far, and to formally ask you to drop your investigation.”

Rhys stuttered in shock.

“That… that makes no sense! We were following a few leads--” 

“Drop it, Rhys.” Lilith interrupts with a growl, “Roland’s orders, need I remind you he’s several ranks higher than you and your shotty department?”

“Lilith.” Roland puts up his hand, stopping her. 

“Look Rhys,” he begins softly, as if this decision was difficult for him. Rhys prepares for some Grade-A Bullshit to come out of his mouth, “This case is really serious, and dangerous. We’re taking over, final.” Rhys tries not to pout like a grade-schooler, simply folding his arms tightly and giving a terse nod. 

Soon Vaughn and Yvette are bringing out the boxes containing all the info they had received, Rhys watching them with a glare. Yvette meets his eyes sympathetically, they all know this will be the last they hear of this case, the police sweeping it under the rug.

Once everything is taken outside, Roland returns to thank them for the work and investigating they had done thus far. Once the front door shuts Rhys storms towards his office, everyone giving him a wide berth and silence. 

He reaches his office and lets the door swing shut behind him, locking it with his echo eye. He stares at the closed blinds covering his windows, breathing deeply and trying to calm himself. He runs his hands into his hair with a frustrated sigh and turns to his desk. He’s about to sit in his chair when a disembodied voice speaks from it, “Nice ass.”

Everyone turns their heads in the direction of his office when they hear the shrill scream and the clatter of objects crashing to the floor. Some turn back to each other and meet each others eyes with sadness and empathy. Losing such a big case was stressful and disappointing for all of them, they can’t imagine what this is like on their CEO. 

Papers are still fluttering to the ground as Rhys is scrambling backwards to the worn couch, wincing at the pain in his ass from falling right onto it. 

Jack slowly digitizes into existence, laughing as if this is the funniest thing he’s ever seen in his life. “Oh my god!!” he sobs, wiping real tears from his eyes, “I can’t-- I can’t breathe!!” he wheezes and slaps his knee.

“ _ WHAT THE LITERAL FUCK?!?! _ ” Rhys screams, frustrated for a minute at how his voice cracks, remembering who’s still sitting outside. He quickly lowers it so as not to startle his coworkers, “What the hell?! How did you-?!” He glances at the time, “ _ WHAT _ are you-?!” 

Jack tries to compose himself, still bursting into small fits of laughter, he tries to speak, “Oh my… *snort* you should have SEEN your face I- I just can’t…!” He breaks into manic laughter again, spinning in Rhys’ desk chair. 

Rhys clenches his teeth as he uses the couch to support him, placing his hand at his lower back as if to relieve the sharp pain that shoots up his spine. He stares at Jack, completely unamused, until he’s able to regain control of his breathing again.

Jack turns back to him, tears still in the corners of his eyes, a wide grin spread across his face, he notices Rhys’ expression and almost breaks out laughing again. 

“Jack, how in the literal  _ shit  _ did you get into here? How long have you been sitting there-?! How the… how the hell did you get in my office?!” He realizes suddenly becoming terrified, looking to the door to do a scan, “It locks behind me! There’s no way you can enter without-!” “A magician never shares his secrets,” Jack leans back with a cocky smile as he gestures to the shield attached to his brown leather jacket’s lapels, “But if you must know, Hyperion issued shield. Prototype actually, makes me basically invisible. I walked in while you and Mr. Policeman were having a heated conversation, figured it was rude to interrupt.” 

Rhys steps closer to the desk and folds his arms, as if this whole morning couldn’t get any worse, “Aaand, I have more secrets than you know, Rhysie. I was able to hack into your pathetic security to your office and ta-da~! Made you fall right onto your ass.”

“Nice, great, thanks for the run-down of events. Now, can you move  _ your ass  _ out of my chair?”

Jack ignores the question, leaning forward to pick up a pen from Rhys’ desk and feeling the weight of it in his hands. 

“So, the death of Harold Ass-iter got turned over to the police…” he says, peeking at Rhys from under his eyelashes. His face breaks into a smug smile when he sees the shock and frustration return to Rhys’ face. He returns his attention back to the pen, flicking it expertly over his fingers, “Guess I should turn myself over to them, huh? How long do you think they’ll book me for? 24 hours? Just a slap on the wrist and tell me not to do it again?” He snorts and tosses the pen into the air, catching it with ease, “Real shame.”

He meets Rhys’ stare mischievously, “I was looking forward to working with you. Maybe getting your help, again.” Rhys feels the hairs rise on the back of his neck. They hold eye contact for what feels like several minutes, before Rhys rounds to the other side of his desk, pulling up one of the guest chairs and sitting. Jack’s eyes never leave him, face still carrying that predatory gleam when their eyes meet once again. 

Rhys locks his hands together to rest his chin on them, “What were you thinking, exactly?”

Jack’s smile splits his face, sharp and shark-like, leading the curious seal into his maw. “I’m so glad you asked,” He mimics Rhys’ body language and leans forward. “I think we’re chasing the same end-goal here, and I’d like to suggest a type of mutual union,” He flexes out his hands, thumbs into the air as if offering him a million-dollar deal. 

Rhys’ eyebrows furrow in suspicion as he carefully tests the words on his tongue, “A mutual  _ union _ …?” Jack nods, and Rhys breaks eye contact to stare at the floor. He rests back into his chair and crosses his legs, “And what are we bargaining, exactly?”

“ _ I _ , give  _ you _ , inside information of all the other mobs, and every other benefit of working with Hyperion, including protection for your little friends. While  _ you,  _ keep me out of police radar.” He stops for Rhys to respond, leaning back into his chair to place his hands behind his head.

Rhys laughs sharply, “That highly benefits you more than that benefits-” “I can give you information on the death of your parents.”

Rhys snaps his attention back to Jack, who’s smile has left. He suddenly goes cold, seeing Jack’s expression of seriousness. 

“I have reason to believe the same people who have been messing with and dabbling into my shit, had something to do with the death of your folks.”

Rhys gulps dryly, blinking his wide eyes.

“That mystery drug you’ve been seeing? That turns the victim into some foggy eyed corpse? It’s called ‘eridium’. Very versatile thing, can be refined to either kill a person or make them go completely bonkers.”

Rhys bites his knuckle, his leg starting to do a nervous bounce. Jack waits patiently for him to absorb this information, playing with the pen absentmindedly. 

Rhys runs his hands through his hair before meeting Jack with a determined gaze, “You have a deal…” Jack gives a small cheer and reaches across the table to seal the deal.

“BUT,” Rhys holds up his hand, Jack stops mid gesture, a confused glare on his face.

“No more unsolicited killing, you got it? Anytime you want to kill someone you have to come to me first.”

Jack rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, looking like he’s about to argue but Rhys quickly stops him. 

“That’s my final offer, either you agree to that or there’s no  _ mutual union _ .” He folds his arms stubbornly and raises an eyebrow waiting for Jack’s response.

Jack searches his face almost desperately, mouth wide open and tongue in cheek. He finally drops his head weightlessly onto the desk before bringing it back up with a distressed groan, “Ughh fine! I won’t kill anyone without running it past you first.” Rhys nods, standing to grab the offered hand, “You won’t kill anyone without  _ asking _ me first,” he reiterates.

Jack also stands still clasping his hand in a firm shake, “Yeah yeah I get it.” Rhys is suddenly pulled forcefully towards Jack, with a surprised noise he instinctively uses his bionic arm to catch himself onto the desk’s surface. When he meets Jack’s eyes again, a small shiver dances up his spine when he realizes their faces are only inches apart.

Jack gives a threatening snarl and lowers his voice, “And listen here cupcake, if you  _ ever  _ try and betray  _ me _ , I won’t hesitate to burn down this whole office with your friends in it.” He growls menacingly, “...And once they’re all a smoldering pile of ash? I’ll come for you and give you a nice, slow,  _ death _ .” He squeezes his hand in assurance, making Rhys flinch before he pulls away as if nothing happened.

Rhys swallows again and unconsciously grabs his hand to massage it, turning when Jack reaches the door to leave. The smirk returns to his face as he grasps his shield again, “And that’s a promise.”

There’s a beep, and Jack’s suddenly gone. The office door opens, with only a few people glancing over curiously before it closed. Rhys had a feeling this was another one of his bad decisions, Vaughn is going to be so pissed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaughn is the most loyal and supportive bro ever, and there's a lunch ?date?

It’s later in the night, Rhys mindlessly scrolling through miles and miles of code to figure out what needs patching. He’s already said goodbye to a few employees for the night, including Sasha and August who had poked their heads in to check on him. He simply waved them off, gave an empty promise to head home soon, and continued working on the code. That had to have been a couple hours ago now. At least Janey was sweet enough to bring him a fresh mug of coffee, though that’s half-empty and now cold on his desk. 

Vaughn opens the door slightly to peek in. “Rhys…?” He approaches cautiously, stepping into the dark room. Rhys grunts in confirmation, scrolling over the code for at least the fourth time.  _ How the hell did Jack get into his office _ ?

“Hey, bro,” Vaughn waves his hand through the holographic display, making Rhys jump slightly. 

“Yeah- yeah what? What’s wrong?” he stutters, rubbing at his eyes tiredly before observing the dark for Vaughn’s face.

“It’s like… way past closing time. Let’s go.” 

Rhys hesitates, doing a quick scan of the code again, before sighing in defeat and shutting it down. As he steps out of the office with Vaughn, paying close attention to the sound of his door locking shut, he flinches when a notification suddenly appears in his ECHO eye:

  
  


_ Heya babe ;) _

_ Meet me 4 coffee and lunch tmrw, let’s talk bidness. Lol _

_ I’ll pick u up at 12:30 sharp, see u then xoxo _

  
  


Rhys accidentally facepalms with his bionic arm, letting out a yelp of pain and grasping his nose tightly. Vaughn gives him a nervous look of pity and holds the door open for him, making sure to keep a safe distance from Rhys’ obvious mental breakdown.

Thankfully, unlike the previous night, Rhys falls asleep the second his head hits his pillow. He can’t even remember the drive back to their apartment.

Waking up in yesterday’s clothes and with a horrible headache, he groans in annoyance as he removes his shoes and lays back down, refusing to look at his alarm this time. He breathes in deeply, taking a few smaller whiffs of the air. His brain sluggishly informs him what he’s smelling: Pancakes, eggs, and  _ oh fuck yeah  _ bacon!

This is enough to get him to sit up and get out of bed, wrapping himself in a blanket and peering at the time. Suddenly he’s sprinting to the kitchen, having realized he’d slept at least two extra hours. He slides down the wooden hallway in his socks and glides into the kitchen, Vaughn already facing him and untying his apron when he heard the commotion.

“VAUGHN! WE’RE LATE!” Rhys yells frantically, undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt to change into some fresh clothes. 

“Yeah I know we are bro…” 

“WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE OFFICE AT 8! IT’S 10:30!!” He gives up and frantically pulls the white button-up shirt over his head, dashing back down the hallway. 

“I already informed Yvette!” Vaughn calls after him. He hears Rhys slide to a stop, an involuntary endearing smile gracing his features. 

Rhys pokes his head back outside his room, his hair an untamed mess,“What?”

“I told Yvette we’d be late this morning, she’s got it covered.” 

Rhys steps outside his doorway, his eyes clouded with tears. He takes large strides down the hallway and into Vaughn’s already open arms, gripping him in a tight hug, “Bro… I love you so much bro…” He sniffles into Vaughn’s hair.

Vaughn pats his back as if soothing a child, although he’s on his tip-toes to remain balanced in the tight embrace, “I love you too, bro.”

*

They’re both sitting comfortably at the dining room table, filling their mouths with a fresh, delicious breakfast, tears still streaming lightly down Rhys’ face. Vaughn rolls his eyes and laughs, taking another bite of his pancakes 

Rhys suddenly realizes he hasn’t told Vaughn about their new informant. He swallows his bite slowly, glancing up at Vaughn before looking back down to his plate. He considers not telling him, the bro-code echoing menacingly between his ears, but he knows he’d never be able to keep it from Vaughn for long.

He gently pushes his plate to the center of the table, drawing Vaughn’s attention. 

“What’s wrong?” Vaughn asks, setting his fork down in concern. Rhys’ heart swells for a moment before sinking back into his gut.

“So… uh…” he starts, taking a small swig of orange juice and clearing his throat, “Jack… came by the office yesterday-” 

“What? When?” Vaughn asks, dabbing his mouth with a napkin, brows furrowed in confusion, “No one other than the police and the mailman came into the office yesterday…”

“Long story,” Rhys interrupts with a shrug, “To be honest I’m still not sure how he ended up sitting at my freaking desk.” Vaughn stutters to speak, before Rhys cuts him off. “Anyway, we agreed to work together.” 

He closes his eyes tightly, afraid to see Vaughn’s reaction. When it’s deadly quiet for a few moments, he peeks nervously at Vaughn. His face looks exactly how Rhys expected, about ten shades paler, glasses slipping down his nose, jaw about hitting the table.

Rhys fidgets nervously, taking another sip of orange juice while Vaughn lifts a very shaky hand to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“You… agreed… to work with the mafia…?” he whispers.

“Yep.” Rhys responds, popping the ‘P’.

Vaughn, poor Vaughn, places his head in his hands, again falling silent. Rhys picks up their plates, cleaning up their finished breakfast. He regularly checks on Vaughn to no response. When Rhys finishes up with those, he turns to Vaughn, who hasn’t moved a muscle. So he throws in the pans and washes those, leaving one to soak. 

He about jumps out of his skin when Vaughn suddenly bursts out, “AND WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT??” 

Rhys puts his back to the sink, backing up against it nervously as Vaughn stands up to round the countertop. 

“Bro-! Bro let me explain!” he begs frantically, being yanked down by his shirt to be face-level with Vaughn. 

“No Rhys, YOU listen to ME!” he yells, pointing a finger directly between Rhys’ eyes.

Rhys stops immediately and stares cross-eyed at Vaughn’s hand.

“This is how people DIE Rhys!! Did you ever take a single history class in your LIFE? EVERYONE WHO WORKS WITH THE MAFIA ENDS UP DEAD!!”

“He knows about my parents, Vaughn!” Rhys meets his best friend’s eyes desperately, Vaughn’s look of anger slowly disappearing into one of shock. 

Rhys swallows the lump in his throat before continuing. “He said he might know who killed my parents, and that they’re the same people who’ve been messing up things for him, too. He can help me find them…” 

Vaughn loosens the death grip on Rhys’ shirt, but he doesn’t let go. “Okay…” he murmurs. “...But how does he know about that? What if this is a trick?”

Rhys looks to the floor and bites his lip, turning back to Vaughn after a few moments.

“I really don’t know. He was there at the funeral… But I don’t have much choice. This could be my only opportunity to figure out why they were killed.” 

Vaughn looks down solemnly before furrowing his brows once again. “But what does he get out of helping you?”

“We keep the police uninformed… and we both fill each other in on information we’re missing.”

The kitchen remains quiet for a bit longer before Vaughn lets go of Rhys’ shirt, letting Rhys stand up straight again. They meet each other’s eyes. 

“Okay bro,” Vaughn says quietly, “If you’re sure about this, then I trust you.” 

Rhys gives a broken smile before they embrace again, Vaughn patting his back gently. 

“And you know no matter how dire the situation is, I have your back right?”

“Of course bro.”

“But, so help me, if I have to hear his stupid sexual innuendos again…” Vaughn grumbles into Rhys’ shirt. Rhys snorts out a laugh and hugs Vaughn tighter, he has the best bro in the world.

\--------------------

It’s late into the afternoon when Vaughn and Rhys finally reach the office. They’re crossing the street when a black limo with a solid yellow stripe suddenly pulls out of a nearby alley. It stops directly in front of them, causing both men to pause and stare in shock at their reflections in the polished paint job. 

The driver’s door opens and a large man steps out. 

“Isn’t… isn’t that the bouncer from the club…?” Vaughn asks nervously. 

They both step back as the man walks in front of them, pausing before opening the door closest to them and motioning at Rhys to get in. They share a nervous glance, before Rhys suddenly remembers he’s late for his lunch date… er… his business meeting. 

“Oh uh… this is for me…” he says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

Vaughn’s face turns into one of realization, looking to the large man adorned with a garishly bright pair of yellow aviators. He points to his own eyes before directing them back to the bouncer, rounding the limo and burning holes into the back of the man’s head. As he reaches the front door of the agency, he gives Rhys a last look, and then enters, shutting the door behind him. 

Rhys gives the man a nervous smile and sticks his hand out. “Sorry about uh… flipping you off that last time, my name is Rhy-” 

“Just get in the limo. Handsome Jack hates to be kept waiting.” 

Rhys bites his lip and returns his hand to his side. “Okaayy…” he responds and steps into the limo, the door quickly shutting behind him. He grimaces at the obnoxiously bright yellow leather seats. He jumps, noticing the man sitting across from him. 

Jack has his legs crossed, taking a drag from his cigarette and staring straight at Rhys with an irritated expression.

“You’re late,” he growls, smoke leaking out of his nostrils and mouth like some ancient dragon. 

“Y-yeah sorry… my roommate let me sleep in this morning and I totally forgot about lunch…” He clears his throat and straightens his posture, trying to mask his nerves with professionalism. “Anyway, where are we going?”

Jack removes his eyes from Rhys to shrug nonchalantly. “Eh I was thinking Moxxi’s but I don’t feel like dealing with that bitch today. And since  _ someone  _ missed his deadline…” He glares back at Rhys. “We’re going to Ellie’s Cafe.”

Rhys nods and rubs his sweaty palm against the leg of his trousers. “Sounds… good,” he answers and looks around the limo curiously, avoiding the man’s intense stare.

The rest of the ride is silent, Jack taking another drag on his cigarette and switching between glaring disappointedly at Rhys, or staring out the window. When they arrive, the large bouncer (Wilhelm, Rhys learns), holds the door open as Rhys and Jack step out.

The cafe is very small and quaint, decorated with old car parts and tools, as well small exotic plants hanging in the windows. There’s very few guests at this hour, and the few that are here don’t pay them any attention, caught up on their own holo-displays.

Rhys turns his attention to the front counter when Jack stops and rest his arms onto it. The barista smiling sweetly at him, “Howdy there Jack honey, what can I get for ya?” she asks with a thick southern accent.

“Eh, well Diane, I think I’ll get the regular Unicorn Frappe and maybee--” He clicks his tongue, “Throw the turkey club in with that.” 

The curly red head nods and turns to Rhys. “And for you cutie?” She gives him a wink, making him flush slightly. 

“Uh… um…” He frantically glances over the menu, wondering what to order. 

Jack stares at him, unimpressed, then turns back to the barista. “Just get him the turkey avocado club, extra bacon, and the Death by Caffeine choco espresso, extra sugar.” Rhys gapes, offended, and then freezes when Jack flips out his _solid gold_ and engraved credit card. He turns to Rhys and gives him a sly wink. “It’s on me, babe.” 

Diane glances between them with a small giggle, pink dusting her cheeks as she swipes his card. 

Rhys sputters dumbly, unsure what to say as Jack takes back his card and wraps an arm around Rhys’ shoulders, guiding him to the far corner table by the large window. He pulls out a chair for him. Rhys gives a nervous thank you, before Jack rounds the table and collapses into his own chair. 

“Was that… a  _ gold credit card _ ?” are the first words to tumble out of Rhys’ mouth. 

Jack grins at him amused. “You bet your cute ass it was. Impressed?”

Rhys shakes the fog from his head., “No just… in shock, honestly.”

Jack leans back and spreads his legs. “Baby, I am probably the richest man in this shitshow town. I got a friggin’ horse made of diamonds at my penthouse.”

Rhys face changes into one of disbelief and confusion, “Why the hell would you waste your money on something like that?” he scoffs.

“Uh… because I can?” Jack answers simply, leaning forward and throwing his hands in front of himself. “Why the hell wouldn’t I?! And it’s a friggin’ REAL horse, Rhysie!! Bet you ain’t ever seen one of those! ” 

Rhys scoffs again, shaking his head before their drinks are set down in front of them. 

Diane winks at him again. “Enjoy your espresso, sweetie.” A knowing smile spreads across her face as she turns to Jack. “You be gentle with this boy now. You handle him too roughly he looks like he just might snap in half.” 

Rhys looks between them in shock, Jack giving a dirty and sultry laugh. 

“Oh trust me babe, he’s into that shit. Aren’t ya Rhyse?” He wiggles his eyebrows at him, and before Rhys can retort Diane is laughing and walking away. Rhys places his cool hands onto his considerably warm face, growling in frustration. 

“ _ Why  _ are you the way that you  _ are _ ?” 

“You know you love it.” Jack chuckles, scooping some of the whipped cream from the top of his frappe. 

Just looking at it makes Rhys want to throw up. It looks like diabetes in every aspect of the word, purple and pink swirled with a mountain of whipped cream, decorated with sprinkles of every shape from hearts to flowers. He looks down to his drink, grateful it looks considerably more appealing. A simple mug with a foamy heart shape in it’s center, chocolate shavings sprinkled over the top. 

“So…” Jack starts after taking a noisy sip, “...George Wilkes, remember him?”

Rhys blows gently on the top of his espresso, his whole being vibrating with excitement for his caffeine fix. “Yep. How is he recovering?” he asks, taking a sip from his cup.

“He’s dead.”

Rhys almost spits his drink back out, choking slightly as it dribbles down his face. He coughs and covers his mouth with a napkin, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he turns back to Jack. 

“D-dead?! There’s no way that he’s--!”

“Yeah, I killed him.” Jack says calmly, smiling with his teeth, “Y’know, just fulfilling that prophecy you were apparently to chicken too follow through with.”

Rhys feels slight relief at the news, crumpling the napkin and placing it back onto the table, “We’re not  _ completely  _ ruthless y’know. Just said a few words to scare him a little bit.”

“Yeah and it worked like a friggin’ charm!” Jack suddenly shouts, excited. “Dude was a complete dick. He really thought you guys were gonna kill him! Crawled in all bloody, said he got pushed from a moving car, sobbing like a baby while he told us everything about your interrogation, haha!” He laughs and stares into the distance, his expression fond. “Ah man, apparently I need to take some notes from you.”

Rhys takes another sip from his drink, a smaller one this time, and Jack happily rants on,

“You know you guys did have him hanging on by an inch of his life. If those two Pandoran babes under your employ were driving just a little bit faster they probably coulda snuffed him right out.”

Rhys simply nods, closing his eyes and enjoying his delicious drink, smiling in appreciation at Diane when their food is placed in front of them without a comment.

“Real shame.” Rhys sighs with heavy sarcasm lacing his words, “He seemed like a really pleasant guy.”

Jack laughs and takes a bite of his sandwich, not putting in the effort to swallow before speaking again.

“Yeah real charmer, at least he fulfilled his purpose. Spoiler alert.”--Jack swallows and pounds his chest before letting out a small burp--“That same day I killed ol’ stick-up-his-ass-Tassiter, I knew it would ruffle some feathers so I sent him out to lead you right to me.”

Rhys pauses before he can take a bite of his food, looking up at Jack in surprise. “Total idiot though,” Jack chuckles. “Trying to play it all cool and ultimately getting his nose broken like a dumbass.”

“You… you set him up…?” Rhys asks nervously, hand becoming clammy. His eyes dart about the cafe, looking for a quick escape just in case.

Jack catches onto this and quickly goes to soothe Rhys’ nerves, mouth again full of food as he sprays crumbs across the small table, “Calm down babe, I had no idea it was you.” Rhys relaxes slightly at that. “Just heard a couple of rumours that Atlas was picking up some slack lately, wanted to meet the big bad boss himself.” He wiggles his eyebrows as he continues chewing, “What are the chances?” 

“Yeah but… you should have heard who my parents were after they were killed, right? I mean, it was all over the news…”

“Yeah I did.” Jack sighs. “I figured you woulda decimated the whole department or just skipped town, but I didn’t hear news of either so, I just suspected the latter.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment before Rhys places his half-eaten sandwich onto his plate, “And you think you know who did it?” he asks weakly.

Jack hesitates, staring blankly across the table at Rhys before answering, “I don’t know  _ exactly  _ who yet kid, but I’ve got a few leads and some suspicions.” 

“That’s good enough for me,” Rhys says confidently. 

Jack smiles at him, and it’s such a genuine expression that it momentarily catches Rhys off guard.

“Welp!” Jack announces suddenly, standing up with a stretch. “The case ain’t gonna solve itself!” 

He turns to the window and gives a small signal, the limo they arrived in pulling from the shadows across the street. He looks back at Rhys, the smarmy smile returned to his face, “I’ll drive you back to your little rundown office, and we’ll keep each other updated on the information we find, capiche?”

Rhys awkwardly jumps up and stumbles slightly, playing it off as him having something stuck to his shoe. He looks back up, facade shattering slightly when he sees the amused smile on Jack’s face. 

“Yep, let’s go.” Rhys coughs.

The ride is completely quiet on the way back, Rhys uncomfortably watching Promethea move in it’s day to day life outside his window. When they reach the office, Rhys moves to step out the opened door until Jack stops him.

“Wait.”

Rhys stops immediately and turns to him as Jack pulls an object out of the inside of his leather jacket, passing it, open-palmed to Rhys. It’s a medium-sized yellow pistol.

Rhys pauses. “I don’t uh… I don’t particularly use guns…” 

“Well you do now, cupcake. Take it. I’m not asking. It’s Hyperion, specially made, and looks sick as hell in yellow. Also, shock effective so you can wipe out someone’s shield.”

Not wanting to argue with a murderous mob boss, Rhys only hesitates a few more moments before taking the gun with a curt nod. He tries to ignore the way his stomach twists at the pleased smile Jack gives him.

“Ciao!” Jack calls out the window as the limo drives away in a cloud of smoke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey~  
> it's been a rough week, so I cannot thank you all enough for your sweet comments and support that have kept me smiling and putting on. I hope you are still enjoying the read :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys can't have a day off.  
> A wild Creepagawa appears.  
> Jack saves the day in his assholeish way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor friend who this was GIFTED FOR, COSMO... is now editing the story AND I STILL FEEL BAD ABOUT THAT.  
> My previous editor got too busy, and now poor Cosmo has to EDIT HER OWN GIFT. ;-;
> 
> she does a frickin' amazing job though, so please give her extra love <3

Four months go by and Rhys hears nothing else from the Hyperion jackass. Four months of Rhys walking into his personal office, staring at his chair in suspicion. And four months of delivering swift and random kicks or punches mostly aimed for the crotch area (by complete coincidence of course). But all he gets is secondhand embarrassment.

Rhys has tried not thinking about it too much. He’s not irritated or upset. Not at all.  _ Why should he be? _

He’s even changed his appearance! He twiddles his mustache with a smirk and finger-guns as an employee passes him. She covers her mouth to giggle while Rhys confidently lengthens his strides. Aw yeah, he’s feeling sexy all right!

All his friends approved of this change, except Fiona, but she doesn’t count. And August didn’t say anything, but Rhys knows he’s a man of few words. Obviously he’s been  _ writhing _ with jealousy. Nothing speaks “mustache-envy”louder than chin-strap facial hair. 

The last four months have brought other things, as well, namely victims from this “eridium” drug, and despite all the secret spies and paid civilian informants, Rhys has never been able to make it to the scene of the crime before the police. Within literal  _ seconds _ of receiving the information, he’d be dashing there on foot, if it was close enough. And how many speed limit laws has he broken now?

But by the time he’s jogging to the scene, it’s already barricaded with yellow tape and he’s formally turned away and escorted by a patrol officer. He really doesn’t understand how suddenly the police are appearing within minutes of the body being reported, or why they’ve now confiscated every file and document pertaining to these mysterious deaths. 

Rhys is leaned back in his office chair, an upset pout on his face, twirling and balancing a pencil on his robotic pointer finger. He hasn’t been able to get any further with the case and has been thrown back into the boring world of looking for Mr. Baker’s promiscuous wife and Mrs. Livernash’s feline escape artist. 

Rhys immediately recognizes Vaughn’s distinctive knock at his door.

“Come in…” Rhys grumbles, wondering momentarily if he was loud enough for Vaughn to hear him, but receives his answer when Vaughn enters a few seconds after. 

“Heyyy…” he starts awkwardly, watching Rhys twirl the balanced pencil again. Rhys looks up unimpressed, slouched uncomfortably in his chair with the first few buttons of his shirt undone and tie discarded across the room. Vaughn continues without encouragement. “It’s the weekend--” he says softly with a dorky and encouraging dance. 

“What’s a weekend?” Rhys mumbles and twirls the pencil again, it’s been a long time since he’s had a full day off, save for an extreme sick day or two.

“There’s plans to go to Moxxi’s Bar tonight to get totally smashed since we don’t have any ASAP cases to solve. You gonna come?”

Rhys grabs the pencil and sets it on his desk, momentarily interested, before his face falls. “Who’s going…?”

“You, me, and Yvet--”

“Hell no. If Yvette’s going that means  _ I’M _ paying…”

“It’s on me tonight!” Vaughn says happily. “Got some extra cash from selling our ECHOstation 1!”

Rhys frowns, surprised and impressed that anyone actually bought that old thing. 

“And you need to get out of this office, Rhys. Make sure you take a shower. Smells like stress sweat and instant meals.”

“Well when you put it that way…” Rhys sighs. 

“Perfect, I’ll see you in an hour,” Vaughn says happily and leaves. 

Rhys can’t help the endearing smile that splits his face. He has the best bro ever.

*

After getting their arms scratched to high heaven pulling a hiding Punkin from a street garbage can, Rhys and Vaughn need a couple of drinks more than ever. They head back to the apartment to change into some casual clothes, taking turns going for a much deserved shower, before heading out to Moxxi’s to meet Yvette. 

They can hear the music from the street, people crowded outside with drinks and food in hand. Rhys feels so much more comfortable when he doesn’t have to wear a tie, happily striding into the bar in a cerulean blue shirt with a comfortably large black jersey-jacket. It’s, of course, packed, being the weekend, but they’re able to get in without too much trouble, and they head straight to the bar to meet Yvette.

“Heya sugar!” Moxxi happily calls to Rhys and Vaughn when she sees them, leaving the customer she was just speaking to. He doesn’t even seem angry, instead his eyes hungrily watch her backside as she moves away. Rhys finds it disgusting, but for some reason Moxxi lives off of it.

“Hey there, Mox.” Rhys salutes back, leaning against the bar to hear her better as Vaughn turns away red-faced. His height has unfortunate consequences,, two being what his head is level with when he speaks to Moxxi. 

Moxxi and Rhys have a mutual respect for each other. He helped her sort out more than a few divorces, and she usually gives him free drinks. Not to mention she runs the only restaurant that’ll make him hawaiian pizza if he asks, what the hell is wrong with people?

“Here to forget your worries?” She smiles, already preparing him a drink just the way he likes it. 

“You know it.” Rhys sighs, gesturing to the healing scratch marks covered with fast acting salve. “Been handling everything from vandalism to chasing off a wild skag from a playground.” 

“Ooo~ how exciting~” She giggles when Rhys rolls his eyes. 

“Why aren’t you dealing with any of those weird murders? Even though they’ve slowed down quite a bit, I’ve still lost several of my loyal customers.” She pouts and mixes his drink. Rhys feels the twinge of frustration and anger. Of course the police haven’t done anything about it yet.

“I’ve tried but the police won’t let me near the cases. I guess they’ve gotten sick of dealing with rakk infestations and decide it’s for a detective agency to handle instead of an exterminator,” he answers, annoyed. 

Moxxi just hums thoughtfully and plops a decorative umbrella into the drink. “Well, I hope this takes some of the sting off then, sugar. But don’t drink it too fast now, keep it aside for little sips every now and then. Here’s something lighter for your little friend.” She winks and places the two glasses on the countertop, moving along to someone else who’s waving her down. “Yeah yeah I’m coming,” she calls and sashays away.

Rhys raises his glass to his lips and turns to hand Vaughn his. He catches Yvette walking up. She’s looking as sexy as ever (he thinks in a strictly platonic way), rocking some black leather and silver-studded biker boots. 

She glances down at the drinks when Rhys hands the other to Vaughn and looks back up to Rhys with amusement. “Where’s mine, casanova?” 

It’s only about an hour later and they’re all laughing loudly in their own booth. Anywhere else it would have been annoying, but at Moxxi’s Bar on a Friday night, you wouldn’t be able to pick their voices out of the crowd. Despite giving Vaughn that “light” drink, he seems absolutely wasted, slurring his words while cracking math and accounting related jokes that Rhys couldn’t understand if he tried. Even Yvette, who’s no light weight, and could clear out a whole wine cellar before getting a little tipsy, is off her ass, face red-tinged and snorting loudly as she laughs at Vaughn’s jokes. 

While a little dizzy, Rhys is still having a hard time shutting out his thoughts. He keeps up with the conversation, but his mind wanders off during the small lulls, and he glances around at the crowd and examines faces and expressions for a distraction. 

It’s during one of these moments, while Vaughn and Yvette are laughing uncontrollably, that Rhys is scanning the crowd again when he suddenly locks eyes with someone at the bar. He pauses as he holds their stare. Something feels off. Instead of immediately turning away, the person holds his gaze. 

It’s then that Rhys notices the man sitting right next to the other is staring as well. They’re identical, down to their clothing, both with medium length silver hair and piercing silver eyes.

Twins.

Rhys slowly lowers his drink as they continue staring at him, the hair rising on the back of his neck. The closer twin holds eye contact with Rhys as he simply nods to the side door, before both twins begin standing up and head towards it.

Rhys’ throat goes dry, and he feels the comfortable weight of the concealed gun at his hip. The one Jack gave him. Not his weapon of choice, but he’s found himself carrying it around more often lately. 

He clears his throat and interrupts his friend’s boisterous laughter. “Hey, uh…I gotta pee,” he says simply, ignoring the snort and subsequent stupid joke he doesn’t quite catch. He can hear them laughing obliviously as he walks away, heart pumping as his adrenaline kicks in. 

No sane person would follow two obviously shady strangers into an alleyway outside a bar, especially by themselves,  _ especially _ when they’re a recognizable face of law. But Rhys has always been a curious bastard, and he places his hand discreetly onto the handle of his gun. 

He lightly pushes through people, apologizing where appropriate and excusing himself when he shoulders in a bit too forcefully. Soon enough he’s stepped outside the door and is standing in the damp alleyway, the bass still audible, though muted, against the stone walls. The door clicks shut with a metallic sound and Rhys looks around. 

The noise and general bustle of life from the street is far away now, to the point that no one would be able to see any exchange here unless they were peering in. But no one in their right mind would look down the alleyway by Moxxi’s Bar. Who  _ knows _ what they’d see going on!

Rhys starts to calm slightly as he stands on top of the stairs and sees no one, but as he flicks on his ECHO eye, the two twins exit from the shadows and step forward. 

“Detective Rhys Strongfork, we presume?” the one speaks, both of the twins’ arms folded neatly behind their backs. 

“Yes,” Rhys says hesitantly as he cautiously descends the stairs. “And you are?”

“We are Ginkaku. We go by no other names.”

Rhys doesn’t answer and steps down onto the pavement. He instinctively circles when the two twins begin to as well, their backs facing the street. Rhys isn’t too worried, they almost look like traffic cones in their garrish orange blazers. If any type of confrontation were to happen, they’d be easier to see than he is.

“Okay…” Rhys starts calmly, wetting his lips. “And why’d you call me out here?”

His ECHO alerts him immediately. He aims his gun in sync as the two mysterious twins point their large laser weapons at him. He knows he’s outnumbered, but at least he’s not unarmed. With the help of his ECHO eye, he’ll know when they’re about to fire and he can beat them to the punch. If he just quickly checks their vitals and--

His mind screeches to a halt, his breath frozen in his lungs as he feels a cold barrel pressed into the back of his head. 

“Hello there, buddy~” an unfamiliar voice greets from behind him. He tries to turn his head but the gun presses threateningly closer. So Rhys instead swallows dryly, not lowering his gun and not taking his gaze off of the Ginkaku twins, although he’s entirely focused on the stranger now at his back. 

“What do you want?” he asks, proud when his voice reverberates with a confidence he doesn’t feel. The man doesn’t answer, and Rhys feels the gun shift slightly as the stranger leans to get a better view past him.

“That’s a Hyperion-issued gun,” he states with cold interest. “Now what would the head detective of Atlas be doing with a mafia-branded weapon?” the man questions. Rhys tries to think of a witty comeback, but involuntarily shudders as he feels the gun move down past his hairline and to his neck. 

“Nice ink.” The man whistles, slowly walking around Rhys and dragging the gun with him. Rhys turns his head slightly to get a visual of the other, eyes widening in shock at the orange glow of a reflected ECHO eye. 

“Oooo~ nice _ eye! _ ” the man says excitedly, moving to stand in front of Rhys with an intrigued expression. He’s suddenly  _ way _ more interested in Rhys than he feels comfortable with. “Man, crazy world right? I think we’re the only two people to have survived ECHO implant surgery! That already shows we have a LOT in common, buddy!” Considering they both have their weapons pointed at each other, Rhys decides this doesn’t give them enough to have in common. 

“And you are…?” he asks, annoyed and uncomfortable with seeing the reflected view of another’s ECHO eye lit brightly as it scans over him. 

“I’m Katagawa,” the man answers chipperly, smoothing back his black hair with his free hand. “Katagawa  _ Junior _ , actually. Named after my father. Became head of the house after his retirement and the sudden… uh…  _ deaths _ of my twelve other siblings.” A slimy grin splits his face, giving Rhys the impression that the deaths were no accident. 

“Your poor mother,” he mutters instead. “You mean she had  _ thirteen  _ kids? With  _ you  _ being the final son? Ugh. What unfortunate luck.” 

The Ginkaku twins glance nervously at each other as Katagawa’s mouth falls open in shock. 

Rhys almost regrets not thinking his words through first before flinching at the loud and boisterous laughter from the other. The twins also seem caught off guard, stepping back nervously when the laughter continues and echoes off the stone walls. 

The laugh stops almost as suddenly as it starts, Katagawa Jr. gripping his abdomen and giving Rhys a pleased once over before his M-engraved ECHO eye glows even brighter.

“ _ I like you _ .” he rumbles in a low purr.

Rhys feels disgusted goosebumps prickle across his skin, as if the words had grown tentacles that brushed along his face and arms. 

“I want to make you a deal,” he begins again, raising the large gun with one hand back to Rhys’ head. “Ditch that Hyperion scum and come work with me. We could be like brothers, you and I.” Rhys grimaces and flicks his eyes to the gun as he hears it power up threateningly. 

“Sorry, but I’m  _ not _ some stray dog looking to get passed around.” he growls, fixing an angry stare back to the other man. 

“Of course not.” Katagawa grins. “I guess you do resemble more of a loyal labradoodle than a mangy mutt.”

Rhys doesn’t take the bait, continuing to stare stubbornly as if daring the other to move first. 

“Buuut…” Katagawa steps uncomfortably closer, Rhys refusing to show weakness as he stands his ground. Katagawa’s eyes roam to Rhys neck and collarbone before sliding back up to his eyes. “I don’t see a collar on you. Dangerous world for a pet to be wandering around without a master.” He presses the gun into Rhys adam’s apple, wetting his lips as Rhys sees his pupils dilate with interest. “And you’d look  _ sexy  _ in some orange and blue…”

The sudden screech of tires and bright blinding headlights flashing down into the alley cause everyone to turn in surprise and shield their eyes. Rhys barely registers from the colored spots in his eyes the two twins comedically lunging to opposite sides, the vehicle parting them forcefully before slamming on its brakes right in front of the other man. 

Rhys still has his gun aimed blindly as dust and smoke fly up from the car, which he realizes suspiciously looks like a limo…

After a few confused seconds they hear several doors open and shut. Rhys flicks on his ECHO eye and raises his gun at the approaching shadows, not wishing to be caught in the middle of a firefight.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t Mr. Creepy Fuck himself, messing with  _ my _ toys?” Jack growls and steps directly in front of Katagawa, hands tucked in his pockets and sunglasses resting low on his nose. 

Before Rhys can get offended about being referred to as a toy, he notices that Jack definitely isn’t alone. A purple haired woman in a suit and Wilhelm are standing there, both aiming guns at the two twins as the bright headlights dim slightly.

Rhys stares in shock and confusion when he sees the other man standing behind Jack with a gun raised at Katagawa. Seeing him triggers memories of the first night he met Jack again, as if someone pulled that same young Jack out of that time space and dropped him directly behind the older and more dangerous one. The  _ last _ thing Rhys needs in his life is  _ two _ Jack’s.

“ _ Jack _ …” Katagawa Jr. growls, a friendly tone trying to overpower his utter displeasure with the new guests. 

“It’s  _ Handsome _ Jack to you,  _ Maliwan _ ,” he snarls as he steps forward and rips the gun from the other’s hands. Katagawa doesn’t back down, just gives that greasy smile that’s all bad intentions. 

Jack flicks his eyes past Katagawa to Rhys, brow furrowing as he scans along Rhys’ face.

“What the fuck is that??” he asks, straightening, his tone that of someone who just found a squirrel in their pantry. He pulls his hand from his suit pocket to gesture vaguely to Rhys. Katagawa turns only slightly in confusion to look at Rhys before turning back to Jack. 

“What do you mean…?” Rhys asks, looking to the weapon he’s holding. “It’s the gun you gave me!” he says confused.

“No, not  _ that, _ dumbass. What the  _ fuck _ is on your  _ face _ ?” Jack wears a disgusted expression.

“What… my mustach--?”

**“No.”**

Jack puts his head in his hands, shaking as if he’s trying to wake himself from a nightmare. “No no no no… I know you didn’t…”

He snaps his head up and to the side, as if he’s refusing to look at Rhys.

“Get in the limo.” he says with heavy authority while pointing to the car.

“What?! What’s wrong with--”

“I said get in the  _ FUCKING _ limo, Rhys!”

Rhys stands in place, shocked, choking on any words that try to come out of his mouth. When the silence lasts too long, Jack turns to the man behind him. “Tim, tell Rhys to get in the limo.”

The young-Jack, Tim apparently, rolls his eyes before lowering his weapon and calmly reaching out to Rhys “Rhys, please get in the limo?” he asks gently as if he is approaching a small child.

Rhys is momentarily thrown off how Tim sounds  _ exactly _ like Jack as well, but doesn’t consider moving until Katagawa opens his stupid mouth again.

“Rhys isn’t going  _ anywhere _ with you, Hyperion! He  _ belongs to me  _ and he’s--” Rhys stiffly brushes past him to walk over to Tim, leaving Katagawa stuttering awkwardly.

He stares wide-eyed and slack-jawed, as if he  _ didn’t  _ expect Rhys to  _ not _ stay with him. Watching Tim lead Rhys to Wilhelm’s side, Wilhelm whispers a quiet, “I like your mustache.” Rhys turns solemnly to thank him, before Tim points his gun at the other twin. Wilhelm opens a door to the limo and motions Rhys inside.

Katagawa turns back to Jack and gives a broken laugh. “Fine! You win this time, but don’t think I won’t be coming back for your little  _ pet _ .” He spits, standing up straighter and puffing out his chest as if this was all according to his plan.

***

The door shuts behind a pouting Rhys, both Tim and the purple haired women swiftly knocking both of the twins unconscious before looking back to Jack for further instructions. Jack steps forward again, raising himself to full height, anger rising when once again Katagawa doesn’t cower and instead meets his glare with a challenging, toothy grin.

“Listen here,  _ Shit-agawa _ …” he growls quietly for only Katagawa to hear, his face shadowed, a vein popping out on his forehead as he clenches his teeth.

“If I see you  _ anywhere  _ near Rhys  _ again _ ? Even if you’re shopping for  _ tampons _ an aisle over… You. Will. Regret it.” He snarls, spitting at Katagawa’s feet as he turns away.

Katagawa’s smile is still plastered on his face as he looks down at the lob on his polished dress shoes, before looking back to Jack’s retreating form with a sadistic gleam.

“Looks like you’ve gone and gotten  _ attached  _ to someone, Hyperion.” He chuckles.

Jack immediately freezes, spinning on his heels to look at Katagawa as if he’s merely a beetle crawling through his kitchen.

“It’s called protecting an asset, ass-hat,” he states, before turning back to the limo and walking away. 

*

Rhys huffs in irritation, a pout on his face. His legs are crossed as he sits in a slouched position on the yellow leather seats, staring stubbornly at the open seats across the roomy vehicle. He’s grumbling angrily to himself, variating between complaining about people that have no fashion sense and creepy mob bosses.

He only glances to the other side of the vehicle when he hears the door open, Jack stepping in first to sit on the same side as Rhys, followed by Tim and the purple-haired woman who sit apart on the opposite side. 

They’re completely silent for a moment before the limo revs to life and begins to move. Rhys opens his mouth, turning to Jack, but is cut short when Jack turns away and holds up a hand to block his line of sight to Rhys.

“Don’t even look at me. I can’t stand how ridiculous you look right now.”

Rhys scoffs and pouts again. 

When he turns to shrug at Timothy and the woman across from him, expecting them to give him the same gesture, they both just turn their heads awkwardly away from him to stare out their opposite windows.

Rhys turns his head back to Jack when he hears him speak, even though the bastard is still turned away from him.

“Make him the Princess Aurora, Tim-Tams. We need to get some alcohol flowing here.”

Rhys again looks to Timothy for explanation but the man nervously turns his gaze away and gulps. Rhys is immediately put on edge.

“Don’t tell me you actually have a bar…” Rhys gapes when with a few hologrammed yellow buttons, a hidden compartment complete with wine glasses, shot glasses, mugs, and a whole mini bar digitalizes into existence. Maybe this is why people sign their lives over to the mafia. 

Timothy grabs a glass and gets to work, the angle blocking Rhys’ vision. He feels the hairs on his arms stand up, but not wanting to give anything away, he forcefully relaxes his posture and turns to the purple haired woman who still wears her intimidating expression. She’s got a major case of resting bitch face.

“Nice suit,” he chokes out before clearing his throat. “What’s your name?” 

She flicks her eyes over to Jack for a moment, but not hearing any demands, she says simply,

“Athena.” 

Rhys nods in acknowledgment.

“That’s a cool name,” he says awkwardly and begins twiddling his thumbs. her face remains stoic. In respect for her privacy and because he doesn’t want to get punched in the face, he doesn’t scan her. He doesn’t even have much of a chance before Jack growls, “Oh my GOD, you make me so UNCOMFORTABLE. Is his drink ready?!” 

Rhys bristles in offense, but Timothy turns back with a small pink shot in one of his hands. “Uh... Athena, you want one?” he asks nervously. Rhys is hyper aware that despite offering, Timothy still is only holding one glass. Athena shakes her head at the same time Rhys does, drawing both of their attention.

He tries to still remain calm, taking a deep breath and sighing, already regretting what he’s about to say. “Thanks but no thanks, I shouldn’t drink anymore alcohol tonight.”

Athena and Tim look to each other, and then turn to Jack. When Rhys sees Jack flick his wrist and Athena stands. Rhys lunges for the car door. Adrenaline is pumping through his veins, and he feels a panic set in when he realizes the door is locked. He’s unable to do much else as Athena grapples his robotic arm, and holy shit either she’s way ripped or Rhys is weak as balls because she easily pins it. He yells and tries to fight back as Timothy pins his other arm, Rhys’ ECHO frantically scanning for an exit, a solution, or what is in the damned drink Tim is still holding in his free hand.

“Stop fighting.” Jack says, almost as if he’s  _ annoyed _ .

“FUCK YOU, JACK!! YOU TWO-FACED BAS—“ he really shouldn’t have opened his mouth, because the hair at the back of his head is yanked back as a glass is forcefully pushed to his lips. 

He sputters and chokes as the drink pours down his throat, a warm and uncomfortably carbonated feeling following along. 

Suddenly he’s released, and he coughs, clenching his throat, desperately trying to force himself to throw up. But his vision is already going fuzzy, his limbs feeling heavy. He realizes he might be about to die. Serves him right for trusting someone like Handsome Jack. He hopes Vaughn won’t be the one to find him.

“Language,” he hears Jack reprimand, before all his strength leaves him and he collapses onto the disgustingly yellow leather seats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> („ᵕᴗᵕ„) Comments are very welcomed (◕▿◕✿)
> 
> ~prepare, next chapter Jack is upping his flirting game to a poor sexually confused Rhysie boy~

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan fiction so please be gentle with me ;w;
> 
> I've had this Borderlands Mafia AU stuck in my head for quite a while and thanks to the amazing work and friendship of @cosmo_is_bienk_melon I have finally found the courage to start writing it and put it out there! Hopefully I can start working on a regular uploading schedule.
> 
> Comments would make my life and y'know, probably help motivate me to finish chapters faster ;3


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